


In the Fields of Oberon, [NC-17] Sam/Dean, SPN AU

by meus_venator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Dean whumpage, Erased memories, Fae & Fairies, Fairy!Jensen, M/M, Music, Mythical Beings & Creatures, NC-17, SPN - Freeform, Slash, Slave!Dean, Slavery, Wing Kink, amnesia!Dean, captive!Dean, creaturefic, dub-con, fae!Dean, kidnapped!Dean, mute!Dean, non-con, transformed!Dean, transformed!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean were on a hunt when everything went kind of wrong. Dean tripped and fell into a fairy ring and woke up in the fields of Oberon, and now instead of being the hunter he was the hunted.<br/><b>A/N:</b> And yes at some point in the story Dean does indeed get beautiful lacy green wings and Sam gets covered in sexy glitter<br/>(written before the Penny Whistle epi : )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Fields of Oberon

**Author's Note:**

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> **Title:** In the Fields of Oberon  
>  **Written for:** Sam  & Dean Mini Bang 2011  
>  **Author name:** meus_venator  
>  **Illustration for banner courtesy of:** sm0kingbunny  
>  **Alpha:** dante_s_hell (LJ username)  
>  **Betas:** novakev and kodamasama (LJ usernames)  
>  **Fandom:** SPN, AU  
>  **Genre:** Slash eventual Wincest  
>  **Pairings:** Dean/OMCs, Dean/Sam  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own the people, places, or anything else you recognize.  
>  **Word count:** 34,500  
>  **Warnings:** rape, non-con, dub-con, explicit m/m sex, violence/blood, hurt/comfort, Dean whumpage
> 
>  **Summary:** Sam and Dean were on a hunt when everything went kind of wrong. Dean tripped and fell into a fairy ring and woke up in the fields of Oberon, and now instead of being the hunter he was the hunted.
> 
>  **Master Post on LJ:** http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/2750.html  
>  Eventual wincest and yes, Dean does indeed get lacy gold green wings at some point in this fic : )  
>  **Author’s Note:** Thanks so much to dante_s_hell for all her great advice on plot and how to get me out of a mute Dean box. You are the best! And proofreading kudos to novakev who figured out how to represent ‘demon speak’ in my fic, introduced me to the use of the comma, and mowed through all my bad punctuation like butter. Also a big thank you to kodamasama who helped finness my new changes, inspite of laptop trouble, and taught me even more about good grammar, (I’m still a work in progress though : ) Thanks to you all for vastly improving my little story.  
>  Any errors left are probably due to my last minute tinker and do not reflect on the absolute wonderfulness of these ladies!  
>  **A/N 2:** Illustration for banner provided by sm0kingbunny (LJ username)
> 
> [ Book Cover ]

  


  


 

_NOW_

_The horns sounded again._

_Hide, hide, he thought as he darted through the trees._

_The deep, sonorous drone of the horns reverberated in the woods._

_“Quick, quick,” they implored. “Run.”_

_The hunt had begun again, and he must hide._

_The morning sun dappled through the heavy forest and reflected in iridescent sparkles off his green and gold lacy wings. Having wings sucked ass when it came to trying to keep a low profile, he thought as he let the little Faeries of the wood spirit him away to safety._

 

 

THEN

Dean ran through the trees, winded and just a little peeved, the branches slapping mercilessly at his face. He hated the outdoors. The Wendigo had been right there just a minute ago, but then they’d lost it. “Damnit!” he raged. He could hear Sam just a few feet from him as they fanned out to find the cagey monster.

Dean panted and bent over wheezing, breathless, holding onto his knees to keep from falling over. He wished, not for the first time that day, that he had had that third cup of coffee at the diner this morning, had taken the time for a slice of apple pie. He was getting too old for this.

“Where did you go you freakin’ monster?” Dean huffed out, exasperated, then he sensed movement.

“Sam, over here,” he called out, catching a brief glimpse of their prey as he lurched to his feet.

It had been only a couple of days since they’d arrived in the town and quickly confirmed their suspicions that the disappearances could be attributed to a Wendigo fresh out of hibernation. After too much hiking, bug bites and granola, and much whining and complaining on Dean’s part, they had narrowed in on the creature’s range and feeding patterns and even thought they might have a good line on where its lair might be.

They were on their way there, an old abandoned mining shaft deep in the woods, when they accidentally, almost comically, crossed its path. Both boys had frozen at first at the sight and then the smell of the tall, emaciated, bone-white creature.

It stood there frozen in surprise for a moment as well. It was a picture straight out of a horror movie. Along with its humanity its lips had long since receded. Long needle sharp fangs seemed to overfill its mouth, and the smell of rotten meat left out in the sun suffused it. Although thin as a rail, a dire canvas of jutting bone over paper-thin skin, Dean knew from bitter experience that Wendigos were supernaturally strong creatures and didn’t want to underestimate it.

Dean was the first to recover from the surprised meeting and yanked his shotgun up and took immediate aim at the beastie. The click of the shotgun as he cocked it must have jarred the beast into motion because before he could take his shot it had lunged at him, its claws knocking the shotgun out of his hand. Only a quick roll as he landed saved him from having his guts ripped out as it continued its attack with a vicious cutting swipe. Sam’s sudden yell as he reached Dean’s location had its head swinging up in frustrated fury. The Wendigo growled, jumped to its feet, and took off again.

“Dean!!” Sam rushed over to see if his brother was alright. Shaky hands ran up and down Dean’s sides as he looked, in panic, for a wound or gouge from the Wendigo’s claws.

“I’m fine, Sam, geez.Let me up ya big moose.” Shaken slightly, but far from admitting it,  Dean allowed his brother to help him to his feet as he brushed himself off.

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked softly, concern in his hazel gaze.

“Yea, yea, Sam, come on.” Dean shook off the overlarge hand at the nape of his neck, and tried not to think about how it felt to have his brother’s fingers gently caress the sensitive flesh there. “No time to be a princess, Sam, we gotta catch this thing.” Both men turned to scan the woods. Dean quickly jabbed Sam with his elbow as his pointing finger honed in on the retreating figure of the Wendigo.

All they could see were glimpses of its pale, emaciated skin as it skittered through the trees, retreating deeper into the dense bush. In the dwindling light, Dean could just make out the long, razor-like talons he had had the near miss with as they slashed and swung and cleared a path through the forest in its flight. Without speaking, both men took off after the creature.

“There, Sammy, that way," he shouted as he saw the pale blur dodge to the right. They each sped up, trying to close the distance between them and their prey. Sam’s longer legs did a better job of it, and he was several yards ahead of Dean. But even with that, Dean knew this round was over for now. Score one for Wendy, he thought.

Dean started to slow down, breathless; maybe he had to take up those morning jogs with Sam too, he was just too out of shape. He went to call Sam back when his foot tripped up on some branches in the underbrush. He yelped in an undignified manner and started to fall in motion picture like slow-mo, the word “Nooooo!” coming action-hero style from his lips as he hurled toward the one rock in Montana with his name on it. He saw Sam’s head swivel around and catch sight of him, big gigantor body turning to lunge toward him.

“Deeaannn!” Sam’s voice came to Dean like a run-down tape deck.

Too far, too late.

With the uncanny awareness that only the slowing of time could achieve, he thought it strange to see a ring of mushrooms so perfectly round in the brush. Then his head hit, slamming into the side of this low lying rock with missile-like precision and darkness enfolded him. All he could think about was he wished he’d had that coffee.

 

: : :

_3 DAYS EARLIER_

Dean pulled up at the motel, another derelict leftover of the 50’s when camping in the great outdoors meant a perfectly respectable motel near the woods, but not actually in them, which suited Dean just fine. They were on the edge of a national park in Montana, the great American vacation destination. There were Yogi Bear style trimmings on each of the little log cabins. Like most motels Dean was familiar with, it had seen better days. Leaving Sam in the idling Impala he went into the motel office unsurprised to find the chintzy cabin theme extended inside as well. Wooden gingerbread trim covered every corner of the room and counter with a large chainsaw carved bear taking up the corner of the lobby. The bored manager handed him a hand-carved keychain in the shape of a tree, stained christmas tree green. Twirling it in his hand, Dean felt like he was making a getaway with a gas station men’s room key instead of their motel room key. They drove on to their cabin at the back of the lot and got unloaded. The smell of mold and stale air hit them as they opened the door, but Dean just walked in, looked around briefly at the garish interior, and grunted as he tossed his duffel at the foot of the bed. Sam followed and slung his onto the scarred highboy while Dean flung caution, and himself, to the wind as he threw himself full length onto the bed. The creaking was ominous and Dean thought for a minute he was going to end up on his back on the floor, but the shivering and groaning stopped after a while and it held.

They were in the isolated Northern Montana community of Hungry Horse, near the Flathead National Forest, where something had been snacking on unsuspecting campers and a few locals for the last few months. The circumstances were too suspicious to be a bear and had all the earmarks of the supernatural.

“Oh man, I could use some shut eye,” Dean groaned and flung his arm over his face as he crossed his still booted feet on the bed. The twelve hours of non-stop driving had caught up with him with a vengeance. He didn’t even have the energy to strip down and crawl under the scratchy covers.

“So what’s the plan, Sammy?” he mumbled through a yawn.

“Well, you catch some zzz’s and I’ll start in on more research. I wasn’t able to find out much earlier, but maybe now that we’re on the ground I’ll be able to try the cops and dig up a bit more at the local library. Later we can try chatting up some of the locals and see what their take is on what’s going on.” Sam cracked open the laptop and shrugged out of his jacket, already falling into research mode.

“M’kay, call me in two or three hours and we’ll see where we are then, and we can go get some food. I think I saw a sign for home made pie…” Dean slurred, already half asleep.

: : :

Five hours and twenty three minutes later the two boys were ensconced in naugahyde heaven at the local diner.

“Ah, Sammy, smell that?” Dean asked, face wreathed in a beatific smile.

“Ahh. Cigarette smoke? Grease?” At each of Dean’s negative shakes of the head Sam became more exasperated, simultaneously turning the menu over and over in search of a salad section. “What then?” Sam said slightly bewildered.

“No, dude, can’t you smell it?” Dean knocked his knee against Sam’s. “Pie! They’re baking it right here, right now.” He rubbed his hands in expectant glee. Sam huffed and continued his search for the mythical greek, with no luck.

The waitress arrived at their table in short order with coffee pot in hand. Her name tag said Dolores. She was in her late fifties if she was a day, 300 pounds easy, with rounded over heels and a cheap bright blue waitress uniform and white apron trying too hard to cover all that was there. She looked the boys over with a shrewd appraising glance and hauling out her receipt book said, “So, boys, what’ll ya be having?”

“Well, Dolores,” Dolores’ eyebrows raised slightly at Dean’s use of her name.

“I’ll have two slices of whatever pie that is you’re cooking back there and the Grizzlybear burger with fries, please.” Dean grinned from ear to ear, eyebrows waggling mischievously.

“I’ll just have the veggie wrap and fries please, ma’am,” Sam stated.

“Well the pie is cherry, but there may be an apple one in the batch cooking up too. You got a preference, hun?” the waitress asked, warming slightly with Dean’s appreciative tone.

Dean’s mile wide smile practically split his face as he replied, “Well, darlin’, if you got both I’ll try both; never turn down a fresh baked pie I always say. Don’t I Sam?”

Sam’s eyebrows arched and he rolled his eyes as Dean leveled his full on charm at the unsuspecting Dolores.

“And your sign promises it’s the best in the county.” Dean nodded knowingly at the waitress and smirked over at Sam.

“Yes sirreee, 5th year running The Dizzy Diner’s won best pie category. It’s on account of Mrs. Hearst’s secret recipe, which really ain’t so secret, she just uses tons of cinnamon,” the waitress stage whispered covertly. Dean nodded sympathetically.

“That sounds just perfect,” Dean extolled, patting his belly in anticipation.

“What about you, love, anything else? You’re a big boy, gotta keep your strength up,” the waitress cooed at Sam.

Slightly flustered, Sam glanced away and mumbled, “No, I’m fine ma’am. Just the wrap and fries.”

“I do have a question for you, Dolores,” Dean chimed in, and Sam gave him a dirty look. They had been almost rid of her.

“We heard there’d been some deaths here abouts; you heard anything about that?”

“You boys here for the park?” Dolores asked, curious.

“Yea, we were thinking of doing some hiking and didn’t want to end up being lunch,” Dean shrugged.

“Well truth be told we seem to have lost a few campers around here lately, and Jack Sumners went missing just a while back which is strange cause he’s an experienced guide. So far the sheriff thinks maybe it’s a bear. But you boys shouldn’t worry, any folks that disappeared were far up country. You stay close to town and the lake and you should be fine. I’ll go see about your food, and I’ll add some ice cream to your order too.” Dolores winked at Dean conspiratorially as she waddled off.

Dolores rushed round and their food arrived in amazing time and was a hearty notch above their usual diner fare. By mutual agreement Sam and Dean put off any further discussions about the case until after they’d eaten. Later, as Dean started in on his slice of cherry, he couldn’t help the little moan of happiness as the first bite slid across his tongue. He savoured the rich plump cherries; just the right amount of pectin, not syrupy or too sweet, and Dolores was right, the perfect amount of cinnamon. As Dean licked his fingers in appreciation, making quiet sucking sounds, he suddenly became aware of the complete silence from across the table. He looked up at Sam who was watching him eat his pie with the strangest look of longing on his face.

“What?” Dean mumbled over his full mouth of pie. “Want some?” He stuck a forkful of the cherry happiness toward Sam.

Sam tossed his head back and quickly looked away; he hurriedly yanked his laptop out of his courier bag. “N-Naah, I’m good,” Sam stammered in a slightly breathy voice and, giving Dean an odd look, started to assemble everything he’d found that afternoon.

: : :

“So from what I found at the police station, of the seven latest disappearances none have ever been seen again and none of the bodies have ever been recovered. Once they disappear, no one ever sees them again ever.”

“So no chance they just went back home and didn’t report in to the ranger station?”  Dean ventured.

“I don’t think so, Dean; these were all regular folks just living their lives, going on a vacation, a camping trip, then suddenly, poof, they’re gone. No ransom notes, no disgruntled husbands leaving their wives, nothing suspicious going on in their lives.”

Sam pulled up another file and showed it to Dean. “And another strange thing, there were no bear tracks or animal prints of anykind at the camp sites each of them disappeared from. It was like whatever took them left no tracks, or no tracks that differentiated them from the human ones.” Sam showed Dean photo after photo of sliced open tents and hacked and sliced trees. “Each of the seven seemed to have been taken in the night sometime. Some of them even had friends in the neighbouring tents that heard or saw nothing. Just the tent slashed open and the person gone. The only other evidence left behind was sometimes blood, the victims, and some strange claw marks on the surrounding trees. But the claw marks don’t match up to any bear marks the rangers have ever seen.”

“And look at these articles I found at the local library. It seems these disappearances have been going on for years. Looks like a 10-12 year cycle between folks going missing, back as far as the 1900’s, maybe farther, but that’s when the paper first started publishing. It’s the perfect length of time between hibernations, Dean.”

“So what, you think we got ourselves a Wendigo?”

“Yea, looks like.” Sam glanced up from his laptop in agreement.

Dean pursed his lips; they were hard suckers to put down. The average citizen wouldn’t stand a chance against a foraging Wendigo looking for a bite in the dead of night. Poor souls, they would’ve been drug from camp and stashed in the Wendigo’s meat locker for dinner later. Not a way anyone would want to go.

“Man, I hate those things. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.” Dean shivered in disgust and Sam chuckled in agreement.

Dean cast a critical eye over at Sam as he continued to earnestly pour through his notes and files. Give Sammy an afternoon and he could find anything, Dean mused. He turned slightly and took a closer look at his brother, the overtall body hunched and folded to fit itself into the too small booth, earnest face deep in concentration at whatever was pulled up on the laptop. Dean watched as his brother absently pushed his floppy, too long hair back from his eyes, tongue caught in his teeth in concentration as he recited back more statistics and occurences, and Dean’s mind wandered. Maybe he was mellowing with each forkful of pie, but Dean’s heart swelled with pride at the quiet realization that his brother had turned into quite a man. One minute he was little Sammy, pain in the ass always underfoot brother and then suddenly there he was all grown up. Dean smiled fondly at Sam’s bowed head as he continued to walk through the case oblivious of Dean’s proud gaze.

Just then, a family came in through the diner doors and on their way to their booth the youngest, sucking her thumb in her daddy’s arms, dropped her baby blanket. Dean wasn’t even sure Sam saw it happen, so focused was he on his facts and figures, but Sam suddenly jumped up, long legs carrying him over to the pink fleece, and scooping it up in one graceful sweep brought it over to the young family. They ended up chatting for a while as Dean continued to savour his pie and catalogue the changes in Sam.

Tall and long legged, Sammy’s gangly awkwardness had finally melted away and now he was lean and fit. The long morning jogs had toughened and toned his body and he had far surpassed Dean’s not inconsiderable 6’, topping out closer to 6’4 with broad shoulders and narrow hips and large bearlike hands. Sammy’s face was still open and trusting, but there was a shrewd mind at work behind those beautiful, foxlike eyes and cagey hunter instincts. Dean hadn’t thought Sammy really had it in him growing up. He was always the bookworm, always the researcher. Dean never thought he’d embrace the life like Dean did, embrace the hunter, but after Jess’ death he’d seen a side of Sam he didn’t know existed. And he couldn’t be more proud of his little brother. And if he wasn’t the biggest hit with the ladies it wasn’t for lack of looks, Dean mused, it was more his extreme gigantor intellect didn’t even notice their wanting glances. Dean’d have to give him a few pointers on that. After all, he was a Winchester, and there was a certain standard to uphold; and more importantly, he was still his little brother, if in name only, and Dean had to look out for him.

Dean watched as Sam glanced back at him, keeping careful track of Dean’s location, a soft, protective look in his eyes as he checked that Dean was still where he last left him, then slipped back into conversation with the young family. Dean felt a fluttering in his belly as he looked at his brother’s long neck as he arched back in a laugh at something the family had said; he stomped it down quickly and swallowed hard and refused to put a name to it.

Returning to their table and brushing the hair out of his eyes, Sam said, “Penny for your thoughts, Dean?”

Dean winked at Sam and ducked his head quickly to avoid showing the blush that he felt creeping up his cheeks and said, “Just enjoying my pie, Sammy boy, just enjoying my pie.”

: : :

They collapsed, exhausted, onto their beds, having searched the forest all day going from one crime scene to the next looking for clues the rangers might have missed, with no luck. No real pattern had emerged and no solid leads and no real way to anticipate where the monster would strike next.

“Arghh, this is why I hate these things,” Dean moaned and flung his arm over his eyes.  “And the woods, did I mention I hate the woods, Sam?”

“Only, like, a million times, Jerk,” Sam said with no real heat.

“Fuck you, bitch, I can’t help it if the mosquitoes like me better than you, ya Sasquatch! Following around after this thing is getting us nowhere. We’ve got to bring the fight to it somehow,” Dean mumbled through his arm.

Sam jumped up from the bed and walked over to the crime scene materials they had pinned to the wall. “So what do we know?” Sam looked thoughtfully at the map and snatched up a marker.

“The first three victims were taken here, here, and here. A-aand the average distance a Wendigo could probably travel carrying a body in one night is like, what, 10 miles through tough terrain, 20 tops.” Sam carefully drew a 20-mile radius around each victim’s location. “And the next four were found along this ridge.” Again Sam put circles around each site. “So where is the overlap?”

Dean pulled his arm away from his eyes and sat up in the bed to look at the map. “Holy crap, Sam, look at that.” And there in the middle of the kill zones the red circles on the map overlapped. “So that’s where our beastie is. What’s there, Sam?”

Sam peered closer at the map and to Dean said, “Nothing, I don’t see anything.” He moved to his laptop, finger pointing. “But I remember something from the library, something about a mine supervisor disappearing in the 1900’s. Let’s see.” Sam poked around on the computer for a while, while Dean got up and grabbed a couple of beers from the mini fridge that they’d stashed there earlier in the day.

Tapping his brother on the shoulder, Dean passed him a beer. “Hey, I’m gonna order us a couple of pizzas.”

A couple of hours, two pizzas, and several beers later, Sam turned suddenly from his seat in front of the laptop, a sparkle in his eyes. “I got it, Dean; The Wilson Valley Mining Company circa 1862. He’s there, Dean, hiding out in an abandoned mine.” Dean got up from the bed and strolled over to where Sam sat researching at the kitchenette table. He laid a hand across Sam’s neck as he bent and peered down at the laptop screen. And if his hand felt overly warm and comfortable on Sam’s flesh he gave no outward sign. “It makes perfect sense,” Sam continued excitedly. “It’s sheltered and hidden and it’s not on any of the maps because it closed in 1906 shortly after the last batch of disappearances in the area. No one would work there; said the place was haunted, and workers kept disappearing. Looks like we know where we’re hunting tomorrow.” Dean clinked his beer together with Sam’s, a look of pride and a fleeting touch of tenderness softening his features as he said, “That’s my boy, Sammy, that’s my boy!” and rubbed Sam’s neck affectionately. Dean realized the small circles he was massaging into Sam’s neck were going on longer than stickily necessary and regretfully withdrew his hand in order to clap his brother’s back in congratulations.

: : :

Dean’s next thoughts were how incredibly itchy he was.  He blew the piece of hay that was twitching at his nose out of the way and tried to get his bearings as he climbed a bit unsteadily to his feet. He had woken up in the middle of a deserted field, hay prickling at his limbs. The first thing he noticed after the change in location was that Sam was nowhere in sight.

The second was that it was summer warm, not the brittle chill of Montana in October.

He wobbled slightly as he stood there, his head aching fiercely, but eventually the field stopped spinning. He looked around in confusion. This wasn’t where he should be; this wasn’t the deep woods of Montana. What the heck?

He wondered why his head hurt like a son of a bitch, and then he remembered the rock. He must have hit his head and blacked out, but how did that explain the transporter effect?

“Sam,” Dean yelled. “Sam, Sammy!” He knew it was probably useless, but it made him feel better. He turned and did a complete 360; nothing looked familiar, not even vaguely.

When he and Sam were hunting the Wendigo, it was near twilight. They had wanted to arrive at the old abandoned mine in the night, while the Wendigo was out hunting, and give themselves a chance to set a trap, but here it was daytime. Just before lunch if Dean’s stomach had anything to say about it.

And even if the time lapse could be explained by him being knocked out for a while, it didn’t explain the change in terrain. Beyond the golden field he presently stood in, on all sides were trees and gently rolling hills, not the steep and jagged wooded area they had been hunting in, and Montana certainly hadn’t sported the wild turquoise sky above with zigzag swirls of orange and red drifting through it like sparkling ribbons. Not a cloud to be seen, but the ribbons of color tattered through the horizon like the stripes in cold water taffy, jewel bright and not of his earth. Dean stood on shaky legs, his head thrown back, and just gawked at the watercolor horizon.

And it was warm, so warm Dean knew he’d have to take off his leather jacket soon. He wasn’t in Kansas anymore, Toto; he wasn’t even in Montana.

This was so not awesome, he thought. Could his day get any weirder? Bumping into the Wendigo in the middle of hundreds of square miles of deserted bush, now whammied to some strange tye-dye wilderness. Dean thought longingly about that third cup of coffee.

Sam and Dean had been traveling north of the town, so Dean made the executive decision to head south. He didn’t think the town would be there, hell, he didn’t think it would be anywhere, but he had to do something. He checked the sun and oriented himself in the right direction, and as he started off he felt a soft squishing beneath his boot and looked down. He had just stepped on a rather large mushroom that sparkled slightly. His eyes panned around, and he realized he was in a ring of mushrooms. How weird was that? He vaguely remembered seeing mushrooms as he did his deep dive.

“Creepy,” he said aloud and jumped out of the ring in nervousness. Was this some kind of Faery transporter?

“Not funny!” he yelled to whatever prankster had pulled this.

He stepped back into the ring in the hopes he might just pop over to the other side. No such luck.

“Ah, come on, whammy me back.”

Silence.

Just the chirping of birds and the sound of the wind through the trees.

Dean couldn’t remember any chants or spells or words that involved Faery rings, and he was damn sure none of them mentioned sending the person to Oz. If Sam were here maybe he might know, but all Dean had was the silver-handled pistol stuck in the back of his jeans, and the clothes he was wearing. He must have dropped the shotgun mid-fall because there was no sign of it. Unfortunate too because cold iron might be handy to have here if Faeries were involved.

Then Dean had a bad thought. What if Sam fell through this thing too? Sam could pop through any minute. It was like a freaking trap door ready to spring on unsuspecting hikers.

Dean hunkered back down just outside the Faery ring and decided to wait a couple of hours and see what might happen.

He woke with a start. He must have dozed off, or maybe the head injury was a bit more serious than Dean thought, but without medical supplies or a doctor nearby, he just shrugged mentally and figured he had to suck it up and keep going.

Something had awakened him though, and it wasn’t the headlong flight of Sam’s long body, all legs and hands, through the Faery ring. Fun as that would be to see, Dean mused. He cocked his head and listened intently. It was a deep booming horn sound, like you would think of in the Alps. Long and low, it repeated again, and Dean felt a slight chill in the air accompany the sound. He stood and wondered if that meant people were nearby, help maybe. He tried to figure out what direction the sound came from and decided it was coming from the south, his original ‘town’ destination. Feeling unproductive, crouched next to a mushroom ring waiting for a Sammy that might never appear, he decided to head out and investigate. People, even bad people, might give him a lead as to where he was, and Dean needed information. He left his leather jacket lying on the ground near the Faery ring. If Sam actually tumbled through at least he would know that Dean was there, and Dean would be coming back, hopefully with help sooner rather than later.

Striding through the long grass toward the forest edge, Dean couldn’t help but still feel as though someone or something was watching him. He spun around quickly, but no one was there so he kept walking, but now the suspicious feeling was accompanied by the faint sound of whispering, an almost musical tinkle.

Again he did a quick turn, nothing. “Okay, come out wherever you are? This really isn’t funny, damn it! I know you’re there.” Dean’s deep growl filled the silence. “’K’, fine, but I want you to know I’ve been trying to be nice. I actually see you, I’m gonna kick your butt for messing with me,” he growled in frustration.

Dean crossed out of the field and into the forest. A darkness caused by more than the heavy forest canopy above seemed to descend over him as he went deeper into the green. He slowed his pace and brought out his pistol and held it loosely in one hand, ready, glancing around as he continued onward. The horns had stopped their low, sonorous call, but now he could hear noise up ahead. He crept closer cautiously, keeping to the large trees as cover. At least, away from the opalescent turquoise sky, things looked a little more familiar, though all the colors of the forest seemed a shade more intense than home, and there were unfamiliar looking plants everywhere.

He had just topped a small rise when he saw it. He stood there, momentarily stunned, as the nightmare moved toward him. He shook his head, wondering how hard he had been hit, but the scene was still there.

It was a large horned beast atop what looked like an armored warhorse. The rider had the head of a bull, and the lightly furred body looked to be that of a man’s. It wore armor: not the modern Teflon bulletproof stuff, but the kind knights of the round table would wear, breastplate and armguards, with the pommel of a rather large sword extending above its shoulder from where it was strapped to the creature’s back. Gripped in one gauntleted hand was a large net.

Huh? So it was hunting something. A Minotaur on battle steroids, armed to the teeth with a giant blade as big as Dean strapped to its back. And it was headed toward him. Awesome!

“No freaking way,” Dean breathed out in astonishment, squinting at the slight red haze that seemed to surround it as it barreled through the forest toward Dean’s location.

Coming to himself, Dean lunged behind the tree he had been leaning on in self preservation and hoped it hadn’t spotted him. As he heard the clump of hooves close-in he tightened his grip around his pistol, fingers drumming the grip in nervousness, and contemplated what kind of bullet it would take to penetrate the hide of a mythical creature when he felt a slight whisper of movement right behind him. He jumped slightly and raised his pistol automatically, but some instinct stopped him from shooting. A glowing ball of light had appeared by his side and hovered there. It was making sounds, slight, high pitched, agitated, musical sounds, but nothing Dean could understand. This must be the thing that he’d sensed in the field.

Eyes wide, Dean tried to control his fear at the general strangeness of the situation. He shook his head and said, “Listen, glow-ball, I can’t understand you. And I’ve got bigger worries than you right now, okay?”

Distracted by the light hovering beside him, Dean didn’t see the giant net descend on him till it was too late. As he turned and saw the net hurling toward him he had time to breath out “Damn,” before the heavy cables knocked him to the ground.

His gun flew out of his hand as he was flung back from the tree and pinned to the ground on his back by the braided mesh. He struggled to rise, but the rope felt like giant sized lead cables and he could barely move, let alone free himself from where he had landed. Heavy metal balls at the edges of the net weighed it down further, and Dean was effectively immobilized.

The Minotaur made a deep chuckling noise and rode closer to its prey. It spoke a barking order, but Dean couldn’t understand a word the creature spoke. Dean’s eyes goggled at the closer view. It was an honest-to-god bull riding a war horse. It brought its mount up next to Dean, monstrously large hooves precariously close to Dean’s trapped body. The Minotaur tossed some rope down beside Dean and dismounted; it crouched down, a satisfied look on its bovine face as it surveyed him and ran an appreciative hand up and down Dean’s pinned body. Dean froze a bit in shock at being groped by a freaking mythic monster. He cursed and swore at the beast. “Let me go you pervy bastard; get your fucking mitts off me. Wait till I’m free, and I’ll rip your furry ass off, you son of a bitch.”

Up close, the Minotaur was even larger than a man, easily closing in on seven feet. Intelligence gleamed in its small, beady eyes, and there was a reddish brown dusting of fur on its humanoid body. It stretched a large hand out and rolled the heavy net like it was nothing, partially unwrapping Dean. As it pulled the net away, it caught one of Dean’s hands in its huge paw and twisted the man’s arm around behind his back, forcing Dean to roll over or dislocate his shoulder. Then a large knee jammed into Dean’s back, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Dean squirmed, trying to free himself from the iron grip, frustrated at how easily the Minotaur was manhandling him. As the creature reached back to grab the rope it had dropped earlier, a streak of light zoomed by its face. The Minotaur batted at the glowball, temporarily letting go of Dean’s arm. The light easily dodged out of reach but continued to torment the beast by whirring around its head. Dean still couldn’t wiggle out from under the Minotaur’s knee, but he was able to spot his gun hidden under folds of net just barely within reach. As the Minotaur moved and twisted, trying to grab the pesky light ball, Dean was able to stretch just enough to grab his gun. Safely back in his grasp, Dean twisted and aimed at the preoccupied monster and fired.

The Minotaur roared in pain, still partially blinded by the light creature whirling in front of it, letting go of Dean instantly as it fell back on its butt in shock. It shook its head at the noise of the gun, obviously disoriented, and blearily looked at the blood trickling down its arm from where Dean had deliberately winged it. It looked in bewilderment at its wound.

With the monster preoccupied, Dean took the opportunity to scramble out from under the rest of the net and rose up to run, but the creature roared suddenly and reached out its other hand and grabbed at Dean’s ankle. Dean tripped, gun once again spinning from his grasp. Cursing, he turned quickly and kicked out at the Minotaur’s wounded arm. It yelped in surprise and Dean felt himself fall back, his ankle free. He scrambled and crawled out of reach of those long arms and rushed to his feet and set off at a dead run. He heard the creature bellow in rage behind him.

He kept running till he couldn’t hear the Minotaur’s roaring threats. He threw himself behind the cover of a fallen tree, panting and out of breath. He really did need to get into better shape, he thought absently.

As his heart rate began to drop back to normal, Dean risked a glance backward. He hadn’t wanted to kill the beast, but he had now seriously pissed it off, and he had no doubts the gunshot would barely slow the huge creature down. As he turned around to slump back down behind the log, he came nose to nose with the light ball, now hovering right in front of him. He jumped back and banged his head on the trunk behind him.

“Holy Crap,” he cursed, rubbing his much abused head. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me!” He didn’t really expect an answer, but when you’re being stalked by a Minotaur, who was he to think a talking ball of light wasn’t possible? For the tenth time that day, he thought maybe he had hit his head too hard. But the glowing light stayed there and didn’t disappear. It bobbled furiously and the music took on an anxious tone as it darted over to the right, then back at Dean and over to the right again, as if it wanted Dean to follow. A whinnying scream alerted Dean to the Minotaur’s renewed approach and set Dean’s teeth on edge.

Without fully understanding, Dean just decided to go with his gut. “Okay, lightbright, I’ll follow you, but if you end up trying to eat me, just know I’ll give you one hell of a case of indigestion."

Dean followed the light as it wove through the forest leading Dean to a series of huge fallen trees. The trees looked like smashed kindling and walking amongst them was treacherous. The light ball darted into a small cramped cave formed by some of the overlapping fallen giants and, circling around, seemed to gesture for Dean to enter. Dean was barely able to huddle down under the wooden blind and crawl back out of sight before the Minotaur rode by. Dean shrank back further as it paused its charge and glanced around, sniffing the air. Scuttling around the giant horse, Dean could now see the Minotaur was presently accompanied by smaller troops, or minions, or whatever you’d call these ugly critters. Small, vulture-like things with the bodies of men, sprouting ugly, sparse, grey feathers, the creatures sported hooked wings and wore a healthy dose of body armor and held hooked pikes in their claw-like hands. Had he landed in a Tolkien rerun?

“ ╬∆∂ ◊∞∫  ¤¥µ α €π   ∂╬ ±¤‡” The Minotaur issued orders in the same guttural tongue Dean couldn’t understand. Rough, deep growls and barks. The vulture things chittered and rushed off in all directions to obey as the Minotaur sat in its saddle and again sniffed the air and swiveled its head as it gazed around suspiciously. Dean froze stock still and tried not to breath. Finally, an eternity later, the war horse whinnied and pawed the ground with its giant hooves impatient to be off and, knees nudging its side, the Minotaur finally obliged.

After the coast was clear, Dean just sat there stunned. What in all hell had he landed in? This was just way too weird, even for him, Captain of Weird. His glow-stick companion didn’t seem to want to move and just stayed quiet at the back of the cave area, so Dean took the hint and hunkered down for the long haul. After what must have been hours, Dean snapped out of the slight doze he had fallen into as he heard the horns sound again. This time they called out just one extra long note, and then total silence.

The ball of light that had been floating quietly at the back of the hidey hole moved up toward the entrance, brushing across Dean’s shoulder gently as it hovered past. Dean shivered at the not unpleasant feel of the glowlight as it tingled across him, leaving a tickling warmth in its wake.

“Calling the troops back home, eh?” Dean said as he looked over at the glowing shape. And so help him, the light ball seemed to bob up and down as if to say ‘yes’.

Dean figured this new horn must signal a retreat or something, that for now, at least, the coast was clear. “So what now, sister?” Dean asked the light, somehow thinking it was female. It floated eerily smooth out of the cave; Dean followed, looking around carefully. He couldn’t see any bad guys, hadn’t actually heard anything for a while but glanced around anxiously and wished he hadn’t lost his pistol in the last scuffle.

The light ball bobbled slightly to gain his attention, then headed off at a gentle pace deeper into the woods. With no better plan, Dean followed it. The glowing ball lead him through the forest, turning this way and that, till Dean wondered if he could find his way back to the clearing again. Finally they came to a little brook. Uncaring if it was poisoned, or incompatible, or whatever, Dean drank long and hard; there was no telling how long he’d be stuck here, and death by thirst wasn’t a way he wanted to go. The sweet, icy cold water was a little slice of heaven after a day spent hiding in a dark and dusty hole.

The ball of light next moved over to a patch of greenery. As Dean approached, he saw that the bushes had large, orangey, almost pear-shaped fruit hanging from it. He reached out to pick one.

“So, if this poisons me, just tell Sam at least I died full,” Dean said to the glowing ball as his hunger overtook caution. Like the water, he figured he might be here for the long haul and may as well find out if he’d die of poisoning right now, before the starving started.

He bit into the fruit and was rewarded with a cool, sweet, nectar-like juice at the center, and a firm, tasty pulp around. “Dinner and a drink,” Dean chuckled as he finished it off and reached for a second, then a third.

Surprisingly sated by the end of the fruit meal, Dean felt suddenly weary. He wished he had kept his jacket. He’d have to go back for it tomorrow if he could find his way. Not now though, he thought; it was getting too dark to think of wandering through the woods, what with the vulture birds and the Minotaur and who knew what else moving around out there. Musical chimes sounded and the light whirled around in a crazy circle, dragging Dean’s attention once more back to his travel companion as it headed further down the stream. Dean sighed and followed and hoped he wouldn’t be marching all night after his new friend. He was soon rewarded though as the lightball stopped beside a large fallen tree just a little further along the stream, its center perfectly hollowed out by age.

“So dinner and you’re taking me back to your place? Don’t get any ideas. I’m not that kind of boy. You’ll have to do more than just buy me dinner.” Dean grinned to himself but was grateful not to be sleeping on the bare ground or wandering aimlessly in the dark.

He gathered up some loose leaves and grasses from the surrounding area and built up a layer of them inside the hollowed log to sleep on. He sat there for a long while and tried to stay on guard just in case, but weariness pulled at him. His last thoughts as he crawled into his make shift bunk and nodded off were that he hoped Sam hadn’t come through that rabbit hole and run into those guys. The light bobbed over to him and settled on his shoulder and dimmed slightly, more like a soft nightlight now, and emitted a soothing hum. As Dean relaxed into the soft presence, he felt more lights slip silently into the log and hover over him. Dean felt no sense of threat, just a growing warmth as they blanketed him. The hunter part of him knew he should be screaming in protest with the alien lights surrounding and pulsing over his bed, but all he had the energy for was to nuzzle wearily into the leafy bedding as exhaustion overtook him.

The next morning, Dean awoke with a strange, itchy feeling. It wasn’t like the itch from the grass the other day. He took off his outer flannel and lifted up his  t-shirt and reached around behind him and tried to figure out what was causing it. There seemed to be something stuck to him up near his shoulder blades. Further exploration revealed that the thing wasn’t so much stuck to him as a part of him, a definite protruding bump that raised the skin half an inch or so. Further exploration found a sister bump on his other shoulder blade.

“Huh?” Dean huffed out. “What the hell have we got here?” No matter what he tried, the bumps were actually a part of him and could not be rubbed away or pinched off. Maybe when he fell he had hit something, but for two of them to be in the same place on both shoulders? Maybe it was a tumor? But who got a tumor in one day? Dean scratched his head.

“I just don’t get it, but I’m going back for my jacket. You comin’, Tink?” he asked the glowing light that had remained faithfully near. In all the unfamiliar surroundings, Dean found he was somewhat comforted by its continued presence.

It followed him, chiming musically now and then. Dean grabbed a couple of the Orange’n’berry Surprise fruits from yesterday and struck off toward his original ‘crash site’.

On his way back, he tried to retrace his steps and look for his pistol, but after several hours thrashing uselessly through the undergrowth he gave up and headed on to his original destination.

Back at the Faery ring, everything was more or less as it was before. No sign of Sam or anything else for that matter. He grabbed up his leather jacket. It was too hot to wear right now but would be a welcome addition on the chilly nights. Dean didn’t want to count on his lightbright sleeping buddies to keep him warm; that might have been just a one time thing. Dean felt confident his brother would figure out what happened to him at some point, and it was only a matter of time before he came through the ring. So Dean needed to leave Sam a signal of some kind.

He spent the afternoon going back and forth from the stream in the forest to the meadow with large flat rocks. By late afternoon he had built a makeshift Inukshuk with its longer arm pointed toward the stream and Dean’s general location. It was a little dangerous to give his location away considering the Minotaur or its henchmen could come across it, but Dean couldn’t sit here every minute of everyday, and he had to leave his brother some kind of message. Satisfied that was this was the best he could do given the situation, Dean decided to spend the next few days at the log and if nothing happened make a decision then on what to do after that, maybe try for the ‘town’ direction or something else.

Dean had thought he might be bored or anxious just hanging out in the woods as he waited for his brother, but instead he fell into a peaceful rhythm of food and wood gathering, or other simple chores, constantly surrounded by one or more of the floating lights. He felt himself unwind in spite of the oddness of the circumstances. The nightly ritual of being accompanied by Tinker Bell and other faery lights as he fell asleep had continued, but by the time he awoke his nighttime sleeping companions would have long departed into the woods, up to whatever lightbrights did during the day. Tinker Bell would stay though and flitter over and rub up against him in greeting, and Dean would begin to forage for breakfast.

With Tinker Bell’s help, Dean found several other highly tasty and edible fruits that gave him a more varied diet. “Now if I could just find a coffee plant, we’d be all set,” Dean snickered as he bit into an Orange’n’berry Surprise.

He checked on the mushroom ring regularly. He tried every combination he could think of to go back through the ring. He jumped into it at dusk, at sunset, he tried chanting every spell he could remember, but nothing. The scrape on his head healed, but, disturbingly, each morning when he woke up the lumps on his back seemed to have grown larger and were now a long, thick mass that distended the skin on his back all the way down, almost to his butt. It was hard and unmoving, and although Dean didn’t have a mirror, and didn’t know exactly how bad it was, he knew it couldn’t be good.

He didn’t know what he could do about growths he couldn’t even see properly, and he didn’t even have a knife. He just hoped that Sammy found him soon, in time enough to get to a doctor before he died from whatever these things were. He didn’t feel like he was dying though; he felt pretty good.

 

 

 


	2. In the Fields of Oberon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean were on a hunt when everything went kind of wrong. Dean tripped and fell into a fairy ring and woke up in the fields of Oberon, and now instead of being the hunter he was the hunted.

 

  


: : :

Dean slipped into a lazy rhythm of idling by the stream watching the glow-lights flicker and chatter back and forth. He gathered what food he needed and took his daily walk to the mushroom circle to see if he could spot any signs of activity, of Sam. Though his self-imposed time limit had come and gone, he felt curiously reluctant to leave the woods in search of help, or civilization. Instead, he found himself basking in the sun on a rock by the stream most days as he idled the afternoon away. Dean had never thought of himself as much of a nature guy before, but he was becoming increasingly comfortable in this woodland setting.

Tinker Bell was his constant companion, though they did start to collect an irregular crew of other glowstick buddies, and the whispered musical buzzing around him increased substantially with their presence. It almost felt like if he listened hard enough he could understand them. But not quite.

The hunts continued to occur in their own good time. Almost like a gentlemen’s agreement, this strange early warning system, Dean thought. That the hunt only lasted for a prescribed amount of time and if you weren’t caught you lived to see another day had kind of a Morlock, Time Machine feel to it. Dean shivered slightly at the thought.

Dean and Tinker Bell had found a series of places Dean could hide, and with the prewarning system of horns, he at least had not been in much danger of capture. From the soul shattering screams he sometimes heard echoing through the woods, and babbled begging and pleading, not the same could be said of others that ended up here in these strange woods.

Dean began to see a disturbing trend of Minotaurs and others of its kind ruthlessly running down innocents that had stumbled into their path. Without his pistol or some kind of weapon, Dean could only grit his teeth and try to contain his rage enough to stop himself from rushing out to try and aid the victims. From the dire screams and grunts he couldn’t tune out, he had the dread knowledge the monsters often raped their captives before they hauled them off, broken and beaten, in their giant nets. He knew he wouldn’t stand much of a chance against the living walls of bone and muscle bare handed, and he shuddered at the knowledge that if not for Tinker Bell’s intervention that first day that would have been his fate.

Helpless to do anything else, Dean started to use part of his day to comb the woods to try and find some of the others before the hunters did. Much to Dean’s dismay, they never happened upon any one though. He wished, not for the first time, that he had more information, that he could communicate better with Tinker Bell, or anyone. Surrendering himself to the hunters to get some answers was off the table.  Based on his own run in with the Minotaur, they didn’t even speak the same language, and capture by these brutal predators was not an option he wanted to explore.

As time passed the hunts became more frequent; sometimes only a few days separated one from the next, the searches more ruthless and thorough. From what Dean could gauge, the number of searchers, or ‘Hunters’, had also increased from Dean’s first days there, and now several new mounted horrors combed the woods along with the Minotaurs and their thugs, giant Goat men with large curling horns and back bent legs that reminded him of children’s book Satyrs. Most disconcerting was one particularly scary specimen that had recently joined the ranks and seemed to be in charge now.

It was a large and looming humanoid that dwarfed even the Minotaur when they rode together. It wore a silver breast plate and armor and had a huge shield that was near as big as Dean slung on its saddle. It also carried the trademark hunter’s net in its large hands. Dean had no idea what Its face looked like as it had a reflective silver face mask that hid its features, but that didn’t obscure the two very real horns growing out of its shaggy brown hair. It seemed the most driven of the demon ‘Hunters’, and they seemed to take orders from it. It was the first to lead the hunt in the morning and the last to leave the forest when the horns sounded.

The thing that Dean really took note of though was that this Hunter didn’t torture it’s prey. In fact, when it caught a Goat Man abusing a captive it had nearly beaten the creature to death in its rage. Dean noticed that the other Hunters grew more careful around their new boss, and if they raped and tortured it was well out of earshot of the Silver Hunter.  

Dean’s strange fascination with this new Hunter though went beyond admiration of his prisoner treatment ethics, and he wished he knew why he found him so strangely compelling, why his skin tingled every time it rode by one of their hiding spots.

Dean tried to assess his situation. Tinker Bell was keeping him safe, but Dean didn’t like the odds of his striking out on his own. His previous plans of finding ‘town’ now seemed naive in the face of the Hunters’ increased patrols of the woods. Dean knew he could have landed in worse jams; heck he’d been in worse places, and he felt more than a little guilty at the thought that between the call of the horns it was oddly peaceful and beautiful here.

His only grumble other than avoiding the strangely driven hunters was that he now had to lie on his stomach on his favorite rock to sunbathe in order to accommodate the growing lumps on his back.

A part of Dean realized that these strange growths should concern him more than they did. He knew the old Dean would have been going crazy with worry, but Tink’s gentle presence rubbing along his back soothed the discomfort away, and Dean’s mind soon turned to other things. Days flew by and concerns of the real world seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers, and thoughts of Sam and home faded, and he began to forget.

: : :

When he had first arrived, the chill of the evening had been harsh, and if it weren’t for Tinker Bell and her friends warm and soothing presence hovering over him, or perched on his shoulder as he slept, he was sure he would have been completely chilled at night. But as time went by, his body became curiously warmer, and his clothes were fast becoming a nuisance in the everpresent summer heat.

One day, he just stopped wearing his shirt, then later, he abandoned his pants and shoes; his feet toughened to travel on the forest floor surprisingly easily. Then, on another day, he just stripped out of everything; no one was around to care except his glow light friends anyway. He stacked all his clothes carefully away at the bottom end of his hollow log. They were just another thing to forget.

The world of hunting and family receded completely, and Dean found himself uncharacteristically incurious and unambitious about it all. Even worry about Sam faded, and he stopped his visits to the mushroom ring completely, and his concern for the other visitors faded like bright colors in the sun. It was as if Dean's identity as a hunter and protector in the other world was slowly being stripped away, much like Dean's clothes. It felt like he was molting off his old life for this new, sylvan existence.

At night now he was more than warm enough and often lay atop his log home as he watched the stars in the unfamiliar sky. In his dwindling pool of memory, Dean didn’t see anything he could recognize, but he loved to watch the swirl of color and movement as the stars shifted across the horizon. He thought he used to know someone who would be able to recogonize their normal constellations but couldn’t seem to remember their name.

His cluster of Faery lights played in the surrounding woods like winking fireflies, and Dean laughed at their antics. As it grew later they would slowly collect around him, dim their lights, and gently cover him. Dean felt both love and warmth radiate through him, and he tumbled easily into forgetful sleep.

: : :

He awoke to a screaming pain in his back, having fallen asleep sunbathing on his favorite rock. Absolute and utter agony broke his idyll with cringe-worthy hurt coming from the two long areas that had grown large and now distended the skin all the way down both sides of his back.

Dean screamed, and his hands gripped the stone beneath him in a talon-like grip. He felt something lifting and nudging its way out of his back, and he cried out again and tried to breathe through the worst of it.

“God, God! What the hell?” he cried out.

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Something tore at his shoulders and was coming out of his body. He damn well didn’t know what it was, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. Pulsing contractions started along his back and shuddered up his spine, threatening to shake him apart. He clenched his teeth as the odd surges took over his body and something slowly, oh so slowly, tried to force itself out. Dean thought he would go crazy as it went on and on in cycles of pain that Dean was forced to pant through.

He looked around for Tinker Bell, but none of the faeries were anywhere to be seen. He was completely alone. “Oh, just freakin’ peachy! Ahhh!” His complaint ended on a groan as another contraction hit him.

His panicked hands grasped at the rock beneath him, and he tried to clamber to his knees to go somewhere for help. He ended up keening in pain as another wave hit him. He rocked back and forth and tried to simply hang on through the worst of it. He went to rise to his feet to return to his log shelter, but another wave of agony had him tumbling off his sun rock into the brook below.

Icy water slammed into him and covered him as he sank, the shock of hitting the cold water ripped a scream from his lips as he struggled to the surface and sputtered and choked. Though the current was slow, in his weakened condition he had to work frantically to avoid being swept downstream and only barely managed to pull his aching body from the water before he was swept around the bend and taken completely out of sight of his rock and familiar territory.

Shaken and trembling from the cold, Dean hauled himself up onto the bank of the stream; water and blood from his various cuts and scrapes streamed off him. The chill of his sudden dunk partially masked the throbbing pain in his back for a few moments, but then exhaustion competed with pain as he crawled further up the bank, scraping his hands and chest on the sharp rocks. He could feel another contraction on its way and braced himself as best he could as he lay dripping and wheezing on the rocky shore. The next set of contractions had him seeing white, and he wondered if he would survive whatever was happening to his body.

He crawled a little further inland as he tried to get away from the pain, but the next surge found him anyway.

With a gut wrenching sob, “Ahggh, oh god,” he flattened himself onto the ground and held on.

He felt something wobbly and large push out of his body at the two shoulder points and extend up and out. The two long ridges that had been growing along his back since his arrival here began to move under the skin, move up and slide out of his body, exiting in one long agonizing pull of sliding meat, out the shoulder, at the points where the original two lumps had split his skin open. He felt something extend and stretch behind him. Felt wind catch on the fluid-coated newborn flesh, his flesh somehow. It wasn’t something exiting his body, it was something growing out of his body!

Panting in shock and wobbly as a newborn colt, Dean glanced behind him to see what horror his body had given birth to. The look on his face would have been comical had anyone been there to see, but Dean was stunned.

Out of his back, drying in the soft afternoon sun, were two gauzy emerald and gold newborn wings, dark and slick with mucus, and shiny and softly crumpled. As they dried the color intensified and brightened and the flesh expanded.

It took over an hour for the gauzy wings to completely dry and stretch out to their final form as they tightened like a stretched canvas. The hard lines along his back must have been the few long, delicate bones of the wings and the bulk the actual wing material growing inside him.

And he could feel them, the extra weight at his shoulder blades, the new muscles that controlled them. At first he was scared to touch them, scared that the delicate looking fabric, no, skin, his skin, might break or rip. But once he built up the nerve to gently run a finger down their length, they felt incredibly soft and were sensitive like his face. He could feel every finger graze like motion; the soft wind in the air caressing his wings made him shiver. He wondered if that meant he could fly?

Although Tinker Bell and company had all been suspiciously absent during the birthing of Dean’s wings, they now began to appear like magic, slipping out of the woods in ones and twos to gather around him. He glanced back and saw his new wings actually sparkled as they caught the late afternoon light, and he found the glow lights’ warm pulsing a comforting presence near his new sensitive flesh. A less trusting part of Dean’s mind thought they’d been hiding there all along, just out of sight, but didn’t understand why. He heard their musical chatter as they returned to the clearing, but it took him a moment to realize, as they gathered round him, that this time he could understand them.

: : :

 _The Quary is finished now, complete_ , he heard the whisper voice of who he was sure was Tinker Bell. To his ear it was still all musical flutes and wind chimes, but in his mind he understood it, no - her, he corrected. Tinker Bell was a chick.

“Who is the Quary?” Dean asked, voice rough and gravely from screaming and disuse. It had been days since he’d spoken, done anything other than the odd chuckle or hum at the faeries’ antics. He’d never noticed until now that he’d been been lulled into silence.

_Why you are; you are The Quary._

_It was foretold. A human from Away would come and become one of us, and he would be known as The Quary._

“And where is here?” Dean asked. “And why am I now one of you?”

_Ah, the Quary was one of us as soon as he ate of our food. Everyone knows that. If you wish to stay forever in the land of the Fae, all you need to do is drink and eat of our food, and you will be ours forever._

Dean pushed back against his strange, accepting lassitude and forced himself to protest, “No! No, I don’t want to stay in the land of the Fae. I don’t want to be here at all. This is a mistake. I fell through that, that… ring that I... I used to visit.” Dean struggled to recall the details of his life before here, before meeting the glowing lights, knew there was something important he should hang on to there. “No, I -I want to go home. I -I… someone’s waiting for me, I’m sure. I think they’re trying to get me back.” Confusion threaded Dean’s voice as he tried to dredge up details of before. So hard, so far away. Mental fingers slipped on quicksilver memories as they floated out of reach. Why was this so difficult, he thought?

Tinker Bell rubbed up against him in understanding, and Dean’s worries eased.

 _Alas, there is no way for us to return The Quary. You must accept this. It is the way of things_. _You are one of us now. You must sense this to be true._

“And who are you?” Dean asked. “And who are those guys with the horns? What are they searching for?”

_We are all of the Fae, but we specifically are the Tel’llalin, the winged ones, as you are now too. We shaped you in our image as much as we were able. My true name is Ll’yanimamalia, but I am fond of the Away name you use. This ‘Tinker Bell’. I wish you to continue to use that._

“YOU gave me wings?” Dean asked, slightly shocked. His new wings rippled with emotion.

“Damn!”

_Yes, when one from Away comes to our lands through portals such as the one you used, they need shaping. If we didn’t, something else would have shaped you, and you would not have turned out so beautifully. Or, worse yet, if you were not shaped at all you would have, in time, melted into the forest and faded away. We could not have that happen to one so bright._

Tinker Bell’s light shuddered delicately.

_We poured all our power into your shaping; it has taken these many sleeps to complete, but your wings are most beautiful._

“I -I, they are awesome, maybe a bit hard to fit in tight spots, but they feel so strong, so real!!!”

_Oh they are very real; they are part of you now._

“So do you think these babies might be able to fly? That would be awesome!” Dean looked at Tinker Bell in excitement.

 _Alas we have never shaped one such as you; you are so very large. We are not sure, in spite of all our magics, if you will able to fly; only time will tell,_ the Fae grumbled.

“How come I can suddenly speak with you now? Why not before? I have so many questions for you.”

_Now that you are on this day complete we can speak with you mind to mind. The voice is such a crude thing we did not think your shaping needed it.”_

**I can speak with you with my mind?** Dean thought. And he looked around in stunned surprise as the words formed in his mind and seemed to extend to Tinker Bell.

_Yes, exactly like that._

**Woah. Crazy! So who are the Hunters? What are they looking for?**

_They hunt for you, The Quary. All of the Away are hunted; King Oberon has commanded it. The Away are taken to the castle for shaping and never return. We could not bear that you be disappeared; you were too beautiful, and we have been lonely for new company these many long years._

_So we kept you safe and shaped you. But they want you very badly. We have never seen them hunt so long and so hard for one of the Away. Did you do something to anger Oberon?_

**Ah, not that I know of. But I do kind of have a way of pissing people off without even knowing it. What can we do to get them off our backs? Can we go to Oberon and petition him? Make him send me back somehow? Can we get around the Hunters?**

_Noooo, no one speaks to The King, and if you return now you will die, my Quary. You have been shaped, and when the sun sets this night you will be complete as we made you; you can never return. You will be happy here; you will be with us, and we will be more careful of the Hunters._

**But I can’t just stay here forever, Tinker Bell. I have a life… I know I did. I just can’t quite remember it all right now, but it’ll come back to me. There’s someone… someone important to me… I.. I have to go back….**

_Ah, Dearest Quary, things are as they should be. And you are where you should be. Let us celebrate your shaping. And speak of this more on the morrow. There is much to celebrate._

_Come, brothers and sisters, and welcome our new brother._

With that, Tinker Bell floated up and gently rubbed along the soft fluttery edges of Dean’s wings. Dean shuddered in surprise at the intense pleasure of the touch. He felt arousal slam through him for the first time since coming to the land of the Fae. Tinker Bell continued to caress his wings, and shivers of want flooded through him, and he felt himself begin to harden at her touch. He saw tiny, sparkling flecks fall from his wings at her gentle rub, and anywhere the sparkling dust landed on Dean made him shiver in desire. It was like Tinker Bell of Neverland’s magic dust, only instead of flying, lust coursed through Dean’s veins.

“Oh. Great, I’m a freak lust factory now sprouting porn juice off my wings. My wings… argh. How can I get used to saying that…” Dean muttered to himself.

Other glow lights approached and rubbed against him, and his newly sensitized flesh shivered in need. Dean arched and threw his arms around his shoulders, keening as both the fairy dust and wildly erotic sensations shot through him.

He felt heat enclose him and the suck, pull presence of a mouth at his heat, but no mouth was there, just the floating, brushing, caressing of the Fae. Tinker Bell hovered close in the sparkling air, barely rubbing against him as he felt something on his lips as it nudged and forced its way into his mouth, gentle and curious. He felt mouths on his nipples and a soft coaxing presence in his ass, felt filled and burning as something pushed, shoved, filled him till it hit that spot, over and over and over, until all Dean could do was scream in pleasure, and all worries like quicksilver slipped away as he came.

He folded, slipped, sighed to the forest floor, replete in his pleasure. Mindless and exhausted, his wings spread out and rippled slightly in aftershocks of his pleasure in the evening breeze.

The Tel’llalin continued to pour from the forest in sizes and colours that Dean had never seen before; they swirled around him in greeting as he lay there sated and close to sleep. Dean felt his exhausted body tremble as each Fae touched or petted him in welcome. Each rub up against his burning flesh or on his tingly wings felt like gently rubbed fur, and he thrummed with energy imparted from their touch. He lay there unashamed in his post coital haze and basked in their attention, surrounded by the slight shimmer of fairy dust and music and let their warm wishes slide over him until he fell exhausted into sleep.

The next morning Dean awoke and carefully stood and stretched his new wings, felt the wind catch and caress their glittery folds. He relaxed and enjoyed the sensuous feeling of his new appendages and laughed. He never noticed that no words followed his laughter, he had no use for them now; his shaping was complete.

: : :

Dean spent the next few days testing and strengthening his new wings. He found he could leap incredible lengths, gliding easily, and shimmy artlessly up the tallest trees with the air assisted push from his wings, but true flight he found, to his immense disappointment, was beyond him. With his new gliding ability though he found himself going further afield during the day, silently exploring the woods with new eyes.

Where once it had been just a beautiful forest now, with his shaped eyes, he saw halos and auras around all kinds of living things. The Tel’llalin continued to be glowing lights, but now they had an extra white shine to them and felt warm and comforting to be around. Birds and animals all had faint afterglows as well in shades of blues and greens. Smoky halos curled around their living flesh, and when he was near enough it felt like soft fur rubbed on his insides. Butterflies landed on his fingertips when he sat now on his sunning stone, and the smaller wild creatures he had no name for approached him shyly for a gentle rub or back scratch. He could sense the emotions of these simpler creatures but not their words. He thought maybe it was because they had no words, no use for them.

Dean did not use words himself anymore either; the shaping had taken his voice. He mourned it briefly until Tink came to him and rubbed up against his wings in sympathy. Never much of a word guy to begin with, Dean settled into silence easily, his world reduced to thought senses of warm, cold, delight, intrigue, pleasure, and play shared with the Tel’llalin. They loved to play and tease, and Dean wiled away the days with games of hide and seek and looking for new delectable things to eat and share.

Sometimes Dean tried to fight the malaise of forgetfulness that surrounded him. Haphazardly, he tried to hold onto his words, fought to make sounds with his reluctant tongue. He wasn’t sure but he thought somehow they were important. That maybe someone he used to know needed him to hold on to them, that he would need those words for that person. He knew it made Tinker Bell sad when he did this, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt with each passing day his memories of _Away_ dispersed like water trickling through his fingers.

: : :

The first time the horns blew after his shaping, Dean found himself regarding the Hunters in fresh fear. He and Tinker Bell huddled in one of their newer hiding places, high up in the leafy canopy of the trees, only yards from their regular camp. They had been lucky to get to their hiding place at all. The Hunters had nearly overtaken them. They thundered through camp, their war horses’ churning hooves destroying anything underfoot. Dean’s grass and leaf bedding was discovered and pulled from the hollow log, torn through and destroyed. His carefully stored clothes were found and dragged from their hiding place, and the vulture things were brought forward to sniff at them. Scent dogs, Dean thought as he pulled and dusted off this word memory and wondered how he knew this. They had his scent now. He quivered in fear, and it telegraphed through his new wings. He curled them tighter around his body, and he shivered.

The silver faced demon strode forward to inspect the clothes and, though they were too far away to hear the tone of what was said, he could see how he clutched them and gestured in rage. He quickly ordered the other demons off in all directions as anger radiated from the creature. Dean trembled; the menacing red glow he had briefly seen on his first day here was indeed real and now, with his shaped body, he could see it coming off the man like a physical thing. All the Hunters were wreathed in auras of turbulent reds, purples, and golds that swirled angrily around him. It was so different from the calmer, brighter colors of the forest folk, Dean thought it would be painful to be near it. The Silver Hunter himself was a maelstrom of burning reds, and Dean worried that his captured scent signaled his doom.

The demon took the clothes and sealed them in a silver container and slung it into a bag on his saddle and, with a furious yell at the other Hunters, he rode off.

Dean looked down at the destroyed camp and growled in frustration and wished suddenly for a weapon… he used to have a weapon, he thought, maybe weapons, and his hands clenched uselessly as he watched the Hunters stomp through his home.

Dean turned to Tinker Bell and said, **Why don’t we fight the Hunters, Tinker Bell? Get weapons, drive them off?  I—I seem to remember weapons…**

Tinker Bell didn’t say anything back to him for a moment, just hovered there. The answer seemed so obvious to Dean.

**Why live in fear when we could fight back?**

_No, dear Quary, Fae do not fight Fae; it is just not done. The Tel’llalin will not raise a hand against their brothers._

**But they fight us?** Dean thought back.

_No, they search for the Away; they just do not understand that you are not one of them anymore. You are of us. Do not worry, dear Quary. Things will be well again, and you are one of us now; they will never take you away. This I swear to you._

**But…**

_Do not worry, my friend, this will end soon; they will leave us, you will see._

Tinker Bell rubbed gently along Dean’s arm to convey her belief, and Dean calmed his anger; his frustration slipped away as the warm glow penetrated, and he purred with pleasure and leaned into the touch. As they perched in the trees for the next hour, until the horns sounded, Dean felt a bit distracted, like he’d forgotten to tell Tinker Bell something and wondered what it might have been. It must not have been that important though. He shivered again as he thought of the Silvered Hunter and wondered at how hauntingly familiar the creature seemed.

When the horns signaled the end of this day’s hunt, the Tel’llalin crept from their hiding places and returned to the camp to set things to right. Tinker Bell announced that in the morning they would leave for The Falls. Hopefully far away from the hunt.

Dean remade his bed and curled up in the crude comfort of his hollowed log. He would miss it when they left here. He curled his wings tighter around his body and tried not to think about the Silver Hunter and the conflicting fear and familiarity that ran through his heart each time he saw him.

: : :

That night, Dean dreamed. He dreamed of a metal beast hurdling down a long black path, and he was seated in this creature as he talked with another man.

_“Oh, Sammy, you are such a loser, King Kong hands down.”_

_“Dean, man, Godzilla would kick King Kong’s butt. It’s obvious.”_

_“Uh, unh, Sammy boy, opposable thumbs; it’s a no brainer.”_ Dream Dean waggled his thumbs over the steering wheel he held lightly and smirked at the man beside him.

The other man, this Sam, was tall and had folded his long length into the seat inside the beast. Slightly unruly, too long, brown hair hung in his eyes, and he kept sliding it back behind his ears. As the man looked over at Dean he saw he had dark green eyes that tilted slightly. He thought the fox like look was quite enchanting. Dream Dean looked at the man fondly.

_“And Sam, my boy, King Kong got the girl; what did Godzilla get? Some facetime with Mothra, come on! You’re backing the wrong horse, Sam.”_

Dean wasn't sure who King Kong or Mothra were, but as the chocolate haired man swung his head in distain at Dream Dean’s comments, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the long, graceful neck and handsome face of his dream companion. He reached a hand out in the dream and turned a knob on the center console and a fierce noise emitted from the beast. The man beside him groaned as if in pain, but his dream self just grinned fiercely and started singing along with the noise. _“_ _I'm on the highway to hell,_

 _highway to hell, I'm on the highway to hell,”_ as he drummed his hands triumphantly against the steering wheel.

 

The other man shook his head and slumped down further in his seat, obviously unhappy with the noise. Dean had to agree with his dream self though; there was something very interesting about this music.

 

Dean woke up humming the song and felt a smile twitch at his lips. As the details of the dream slipped away like gossamer threads on the wind, he wondered who the beautiful man in the dream was, and what he had eaten to conjure up such a fanciful tale.

 

: : :

The weather the next day was beautiful as were so many things in this strange land. Dean couldn’t actually remember a day spoiled by rain or clouds, he seemed to remember a place or time when that was not always so. He puzzeled on that a bit but kept up a steady pace through the forest, many of the Tel’llalin floating and whirling around and near him. Although he leapt and played with them on their way to The Falls, he felt a curious restlessness inside and wondered if there was more… more to life than idling on sun stones and chasing fireflies, more than day after day of endless play. Dean was not unhappy, but he felt a tightening in his belly as he fanned out his wings behind him, it felt like he used to have more of a…purpose. He shook his head and laughed as a glowlight did a silly acrobatic maneuver, but the lingering melancholy stayed with him.

Although most of the Tel’llalin were excited at the prospect of returning to the Falls, Tinker Bell seemed oddly subdued. When they stopped for a lunch of Dean’s favorite, the delicious Orange’n’berry Surprise fruits, he rubbed along her glowing sides and asked, **What’s the matter, my friend?** He had tipped his head and taken another long drink as he waited for her response  when they heard the Horns sound. Dean whipped his head around to look at Tinker Bell in surprise; he had never heard the Horns two days in a row. Fresh fear darted up his spine and Dean abandoned his meal and started to run.

At Tinker Bell’s worried cry, _Run, Dear Quary; the Hunters have found us_ , the Fae glowlights urged him onwards. In this new territory they had no set hiding places, and Dean glanced around, desperate for refuge of some sort. Although the other Tel’llalin quickly found spots, there were no good places for someone Dean’s size, and precious minutes slipped by as Dean and Tinker Bell frantically searched.

 **Damn, I guess you should have shrunk me when you shaped me** , Dean thought mirthlessly as he scrambled to hide.

A sudden crash came from nearby as something large barreled through the trees, and Dean knew they had run out of time. The Hunters must have been camped close to follow his scent here so quickly, and the weird, cawing screech of the vulture birds signaled them closing in. Dean continued his mad dash through the woods, gliding jumps eating up distance as he searched for shelter, but the sounds of the mounted pursuiters still grew closer. His wings caught and tore as branches grabbed on the lacy edges, and Dean cried out at the pain.

Determined, he pulled his wings in tighter, desperate to continue his headlong rush and not rip himself apart.

He looked back to see if he could spot his pursuers, and distracted, he tripped and came crashing down on one wing just as he entered into a little clearing. He keened in pain as the wing sang out at the mistreatment. Dean staggered quickly to his feet, but the vulture birds were suddenly there and surrounded him. He leapt, glided, and tried to escape into the forest, but their hooked spears caught at his wings and pulled him back. He cried out in agony as his flesh was ripped by their blades, and he tumbled to the ground as they stalked closer.

Tinker Bell zoomed in suddenly and whizzed around their heads.

 _Go, go now my friend. I will distract them_ , Tink sent to Dean.

The vulture birds batted at her with their pikes, and Tinker Bell danced back away from where Dean huddled on the ground. The minions followed, poking and jabbing at her, Dean temporarily forgotten. He rose; frustration curled his hands to fists. Without weapons he had no hope of fighting back, or protecting Tinker Bell; his only choice was to do as she asked and leave.

He sent her a brief thought, **Be careful, Tink; get away, save yourself!**   He turned to spring away, but the familiar whirl of a net descending overhead stopped him in his tracks. A Minotaur had reached the clearing and tossed its rock weighted net, catching Dean in its folds. The heavy hemp tore at his flesh and ripped at his poor beleaguered wings, and he was slammed to the ground by its weight.

Screaming in pain, Dean tried to crawl out from under the heavy net, no more successful than the first time it happened to him, and he became further entangled. Panting in terror, he forced himself to stillness, to wait and see what the creature would do.

He watched as the creature dismounted and thought maybe it was a different one than the one that had first captured him; this one was slightly taller and broader with nearly black fur and slightly different armor, but the mean, cruel look in its bovine face was the same as it stalked over toward Dean.

He felt both the net and his body grasped in hairy, paw like hands, his wings crushed and hauled upward along with the net as the Minotaur attempted to sort Dean from the net’s folds. The waves of the beast man’s angry purple aura licked at Dean’s skin like flames, and he writhed in pain, struggled away from the creature’s touch. The Minotaur hauled at the net and grabbed Dean by the ankle and pulled him out from under it. Dean whined and rolled and scrabbled to try and escape, but the hand was like a lead manacle on his leg and pulled him effortlessly closer. Dean was rolled onto his back, crushing his own wings as the beast tied Dean’s hands together. Then it paused and grunted harshly to him, barking out a question “≡Ѱ∏∂≈  ◊‡≠∏  ≈∞ ,” but Dean couldn’t understand. Dean tried to scoot back from the angry creature, but it just grabbed Dean like a rag doll and pulled him back closer to its body. Its large hand was suddenly gentle as it lifted Dean’s face up to look at him. It caressed his chest and legs like it was touching the finest silk. Another rope appeared as the beast looped it around Dean's neck, the other end wrapped several times around its wrist. Dean swallowed and cast about; he couldn’t see Tinker Bell or the vulture birds. Any chance of escape was all up to him.

Dean growled at the creature and continued to pull at the ropes, disgusted at his own helplessness.

The Minotaur paused and looked around, sniffed the air cautiously and seemed pleased at what it smelled or maybe didn’t smell. It swiveled its head and took a long, hard look at Dean and licked its lips. Its beady eyes took on a sinister glint as it continued to gaze up and down Dean’s body.

Dean shook with sudden understanding. The Silver Hunter was nowhere near, and the creature was free to do as it wanted. The Minotaur yanked at the leash and closed the distance between its hand and Dean’s neck, forcing Dean to kneel up as it started to remove its breast plate and armor. Its heavy leather trousers soon followed, and Dean screamed in rage and tried to jerk back, but the rope and the heavy hand held him securely.

The Minotaur rubbed at its cock lewdly and pulled on it; lecherous sounding words tumbled from its lips and Dean didn’t need to speak the language to mistake the lascivious intent. It was as huge as its brother, easily six foot seven or eight, with the body of a man, just much hairier. As it tugged and pulled on its ever expanding dick, Dean swallowed in fear. The beast got harder, precum leaked from its hairy tip, and the Minotaur’s cock was monstrous. Dean didn’t know where it thought that was going to fit, but if it meant to stick it in him, it might as well kill him. Dean renewed his attempts to escape and half choked himself as he suddenly fell back on his ass and kicked out at the thing’s legs as he tried to knock it off its feet. It was like kicking granite.

It laughed cruelly and casually smashed Dean in the face, sending him slamming to the ground. As Dean struggled to rise, it loomed over and hauled Dean back up on his knees. Dean fairly squeaked as the beast shoved his thumb into Dean’s mouth, the large digit wedged between the back of his teeth preventing Dean from closing his mouth. Then it pulled the leash in its other hand down so one foot could step on it, effectively holding Dean tethered in place, while freeing its hand. It reached down and stroked itself languidly a few times, then grabbed up its massive dick and brought its leaking tip up toward Dean’s face.

Dean choked out a gasp as the hairy tip of the penis was pushed across his lips. The thumb hooked inside his mouth prevented him from closing as the hard slab of flesh shoved inside.

Dean’s jaw was forced so far apart he thought he heard a cracking sound, and the pole of flesh started to rock in and out of him. With the beast’s dick now in Dean’s mouth, its hand moved to the back of Dean’s skull and held him immobile. Dean couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything, and was finding it hard to work his lungs. The massive cock blocked any air from entering his mouth, and Dean could do nothing to eject it.  He couldn’t even bite down on it he was wedged so far open.

It started to moan as the plug of flesh hit the back of Dean’s throat, and Dean started to gag. Through watering eyes he saw that the whole dick wasn’t even inside him yet. Dean’s vision started to blur from the lack of air, and he wondered if the Minotaur wouldn’t stop till it fit the whole thing down his throat. The beast continued to pump back and forth as it gained speed and hit the back of Dean’s throat now with every thrust. Tears leaked steadily, now, from Dean’s eyes as he tried to hold back the urge to vomit; instinct warned him that even that wouldn’t stop the creature’s attentions. Finally, as Dean hung totally limp from its grasp, he could sense the beast’s balls tighten, and it jerked back on Dean’s hair and then suddenly withdrew. Dean sobbed as air returned, and he clawed his way back to the edge of consciousness.

The beast’s thumb pulled out of Dean’s mouth, and Dean dissolved into fits of coughing and choking. It gave a rough caress along Dean’s saliva and tear stained face before Dean found himself suddenly flipped over onto his belly on the ground and a dark cloth pulled over his eyes. 

Blind! Dean’s air-deprived mind screamed as he mewled in panic.

Already kitten weak from near asphyxiation, Dean felt completely cut-off, now, by the darkness. The cloth of the blindfold prevented him from seeing anything, and his arms pinned beneath his body prevented him from rearing up. The black surrounded him, and Dean felt the icy fingers of panic claw up his spine. He tried to scramble away, wings flapping weakly in terror, but the Minotaur pulled on the leash, and Dean felt his air cut off again. He struggled to breathe, bound hands pulled at the rope on his neck, but the iron grip was relentless, and Dean felt consciousness fade.

When Dean returned to himself it was to the panicked intake of air into his oxygen starved lungs. His head still spun from the earlier blow, and the blindfold was still firmly in place. He felt the Minotaur’s angry, heated aura as its heavy weight loomed over him. Dean tried to tamp down his terror as the giant beast’s heavy paws pulled Dean’s ass cheeks apart, and Dean started to struggle again. He felt the leash jerk in warning, and then he heard the awful sound of it hocking up spit and felt the wet slap of it hit his tightly furled entrance. It grabbed onto one of Dean's wings for leverage, and Dean arched back and froze in agony as the large hand crushed down on the delicate flesh. It grabbed at the joint where the wing connected to his back, no glittering pleasure in its touch as had been the case with the welcome of the Tel’llalin as they caressed his wings gently; just coarse pain. While the fingers of the one hand clamped down on his wing, caressing Dean absently, the fingers of its other hand began to probing his pucker brutally, stretching his hole, preparing him for the rest of the nightmare to come.

Dean grunted in pain as the fingers plowed ungently into virgin flesh. This was not a gentle stretch and prep, or invisible lover’s hands; it was brutal and half-hearted, the beast intent upon his own pleasure.

Then he felt something large and warm and stiff slide along the crack of his ass, precum lubricating its velvety slide, so close, so huge as it probed his cringing entrance. Wasting no time, the Minotaur poked and pushed, finally zeroed in and rammed the broad head of its cock home. Dean felt the harsh invasion into his dry flesh, the little amount of spit and precum in no way up to the job of smoothing its entry. Dean struggled, pinned to the ground by its giant cock as it shoved into his too narrow channel. Dean couldn’t remember having been taken like this before, and certainly not this pain. The creature grunted and pushed and shoved its way into Dean’s body. Dean screamed a high-pitched, animalistic sound as the pain blanked out all reason and swamped him. His whole world became the tearing, white hot glow of agony that was his ass at the brutal thrusting invasion. Dean jerked and lunged forward mindless, desperate to get away from each new agonizing push, but the hand on his wing joint brutally dug in, and he was held in place. He clawed at the ground, trying to move away, but his hips were flattened by the Minotaur’s weight as it rocked Dean into the ground with each stroke.

He continued to cry out in agony and sobbed; tears streamed down his face beneath the dirty blindfold as he hung limply, pegged on the creature’s shaft. Dean could feel the blood as it started to leak out of him, the only minor blessing that it lubricated its path.

He wasn’t sure which pain was worse: the steel grip on his wing, or the steel ram up his ass. Sweat began to pour off him as shock settled in, and he started to tremble as his body reached overload. The Minotaur was rutting at full speed now, and Dean could only hope it would be over soon. He tried to relax; some long buried piece of wisdom informed him if he could relax it wouldn’t hurt so much. **Fat chance of that** , Dean thought, and he cringed as it slammed in again, its heavy balls slapping against Dean’s ass. Nauseous, Dean tried to control his breathing and conserve his strength. He could hardly get any air in through the panicked tightening of his chest and felt himself grow more tense and light-headed in spite of all his efforts to stay calm.

Desperately, he tried to plan - there would be a short window, hopefully, after the creature came when it might be vulnerable, and Dean hoped there was enough left of him to be ready to take advantage of that.

The Minotaur’s rhythm finally, mercifully started to falter as its balls drew up close to its body and it came close to release. Dean bit down on a sob as his wing was released in favor of both of its hands gripping his hips. Dean grunted in pain and felt like a rag doll as it shoved Dean’s body back and forth on its cock and took its pleasure from his body. Dean worked his hands up from underneath him and grabbed at the blindfold. Eyes squeezed tight against the pain, Dean knew regaining his sight was vital to escape, and as the Minotaur surged into him one last time, Dean was able to claw the blindfold off. Dean went rigid in shocked pain, staring unseeing into the forest as the Minotaur came deep inside him. He tried not to gag as he felt the warm pulses splash inside his battered body, and he felt himself fill with the creature’s pumping seed.

Boneless in afterglow, the Minotaur fell to the ground, mercifully deciding last minute to fall beside Dean rather than on top of him. Its now limp organ slipped wetly from Dean’s hole, and it lay there panting. Dean could feel its wet and slimy come as it began to leak out of his gaping entrance.

Dashing tears from his eyes with his bound hands, Dean gritted his teeth and, ignoring the pain that sliced through him, turned to look at the monster that lay sprawled beside him.

Its one hand still firmly wrapped around the rope leash, the Minotaur reached out with the other to clumsily pat at Dean’s shoulder and mumble something in an exhausted growl. Dean thought, cynically, probably something to do with what a good fuck he was. Then Dean spotted the knife at the Minotaur’s side. Not even giving himself time to think about it, he dived for the knife; his bound hands grabbed at it and pulled it from its sheath. Ignoring the fiery scream the sudden movement caused to shoot up his ass, Dean stabbed wildly at its guts, cutting and slicing whatever he could reach, figuring quantity rather than quality was his only chance against his oversized adversary.

As the monster lurched in pain and grabbed its wounded stomach, Dean sawed frantically at the rope that connected them. The Minotaur bellowed and grabbed for Dean, but Dean slashed its reaching hand with the blade. Blood splattered along Dean’s face, but he kept hacking.

The Minotaur rolled like a beached whale, howling in pain, while Dean scuttled back from it, rope leash sawn through, finally free. He tried to get to his feet but fell and slipped as blood left a slick trail down his legs and pooled beneath him. He finally managed to stand on wobbly legs and, in spite of the pain, to stay upright. He growled lowly and debated whether he should slit the Minotaur’s throat, but that would require getting in closer, and Dean was worried he was too weak and his wings too vulnerable to risk a closer encounter.

 **Damn wings sucked ass in a fight. They never warned you about that in Fairy school** , Dean snarked to himself.

He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself before he attempted to move; escape into the woods was within reach. He just had to hope the vulture birds wouldn’t return yet and that Tinker Bell was okay. He gritted his teeth against the pain and hobbled forward. His one wing dragged limply behind him, and he hoped desperately that he’d not pass out just yet.

He made it a couple hundred yards deeper into the bush before weakness and trembling forced him to stop and lean against a tree. He battled the urge to slide down the trunk and just lay down. He knew if he fell he would never get up. In despair, tears glinted in his eyes; he looked up at the sky and prayed for strength but instead cried in anguish as pain sliced up his legs. He bowed his head and allowed himself a moment to collect himself. He wondered if his friend had made it out alive, wanted to concentrate on anything but the horrible vulnerability and weakness and pain he felt.

He felt a flutter near his face and opened eyes he didn’t know he had closed…Tinker Bell… She was alive!

Dean let out an exhausted chuckle that was almost a sob. **You made it my friend…** he thought softly at the glowlight.

_Oh, My Quary, they have harmed you… your flesh-- it is torn!… And we must away. The Hunters are close._

**I don’t think I can move, Tink. I feel like my guts are going to drop out my ass, and I'm bleeding all over the place. Leave me here. Maybe they won’t see me.** Dean’s legs trembled with the effort of staying upright, and he felt darkness swim at the edge of his vision.

 _I will do what I can, my love._ The Tel’llalin thought her shock and dismay at Dean.

Dean nodded, too exhausted to communicate more. Then Dean felt a warm tingly sensation as the glow light seemed to pour energy into him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Dean to be able to straighten and bat back unconsciousness. It was enough to keep his eyes open and put one foot in front of the other and bite his lip and keep moving. He could see Tinker Bell dart around, desperately combing the woods for a safe hiding spot. Just when Dean was nearing collapse, Tinker Bell signaled him; she’d found something.

It looked like an abandoned den, for what kind of creature Dean didn’t know. It was a small entrance covered over in greenery, near an old stump. Dean didn’t think he would have ever seen it on his own. With the last dredges of his energy he crawled down inside. It was just big enough for Dean and Tinker Bell to disappear into. Dean barely made it inside before unconscious overtook him. As mercy crept in he could faintly hear the horns sound; the hunt was over for this day. They were safe, and Dean passed out. 

: : :


	3. In the Fields of Oberon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean were on a hunt when everything went kind of wrong. Dean tripped and fell into a fairy ring and woke up in the fields of Oberon, and now instead of being the hunter he was the hunted.

  


  


**: : :**

Dean awoke the following day, and everything hurt. His wing dragged weakly on the ground, and he could see tears in the iridescent flesh that made him shudder. His neck was a hot ring of pain where the rope had sawn into his flesh, and his ass… he didn’t want to think too much about the damage the Minotaur had done there.

Dean felt cold, so very cold, and Tinker Bell tried to stay near him and lend him her warmth, but nothing seemed enough. Dean flinched at even her tender touch; everything reminded him of the harsh, painful grip of the Minotaur’s hands, and Dean shivered, clammy with shock.

Tinker Bell scouted a nearby stream and coaxed Dean gently toward it. He stood in the shallows and carefully washed his aching body as best he could, and afterward, fell asleep on the shore in an exhausted stupor. He awoke much later, near dark, and Tinker Bell helped scout out food and shelter for the evening. Leaving Dean safely nestled at the foot of a large tree, she tried to look for the scattered Tel’llalin. Dean was numb; all he wanted was to curl into unconsciousness and escape the pain that thrummed through his body with every beat of his heart. He dozed fitfully.

Later that night they lay together under the sheltering tree, Dean awake once more and staring up at the sky. Tinker Bell, nestled onto his shoulder, said gently, _Dear Quary, your eyes are leaking; are you hurt there too, my friend?_ Dean dashed his hands across his face and pulled his wings in tighter; he turned his face away, unable to answer.

: : :

The following day wasn’t much better, though Dean forced himself to continue, one limping step after the other, as he tried grimly to gain some distance between them and the Hunters. He worried if his wing would ever heal, or if he would be able to move fast enough by the time the horns sounded again.

Curiously, after such a fever pitch of hunting, the horns did not sound for several days. Dean concentrated on resting and tried to get better as their little band regrouped. Despite the reprieve from the horns, he felt growing despair at their situation.

 **You must leave me** , Dean thought, sadness suffusing his thoughts as he ‘spoke’ with Tinker Bell. **I’m endangering all of you, the group. I don’t know why, but they seem to want me; I think they are targeting me, the scent-taking, the tracking, it all goes towards hunting me down, and I don’t want you to be hurt helping me.** Dean gently rubbed at Tinker Bell’s glowing light as he tried to convey his concern to his friend. **Just give me instructions on where to go and I’ll follow when I can. I don’t want these asshats on your tail. They’re my problem, not yours.**

_No, my friend, we will not leave you. We are not helpless; we have a few ‘tricks up our sleeves’ I think you would say._

_I can see how this Fae has hurt you. I am ashamed of my people to do such a thing, to take without permission, without love; it is so very wrong, Dean. We must make this right. Now that we are many again, we will use the Healing Circle and try to repair the flesh made broken._

Dean hugged his arms around his knees and watched as Tinker Bell flew off. He felt so lost and damaged. He’d never, that he knew of, ever had anything like this happen before, and the Minotaur’s actions kept replaying over and over in his mind. He felt vulnerable and weak. Nothing he did had made a bit of difference or had even slowed the creature down. Dean shivered in remembrance and tried to ignore the silver trails his tears left as they trickled steadily down his cheeks.

The Healing Circle was held that night at Tinker Bell’s insistence. A meeting of as many Tel’llalin as she could gather were brought together in the nearby clearing. As a musical hum gathered in the air, Dean was awakened and summoned to the center of the circle of glowing Fae. At first, all Dean felt was a slight tingle along his arms and legs, and then the hair on the back of his neck stood up as the feeling spread. The volume of the humming increased, and Dean felt glowing tendrils extend out from the Tel’llalin and surround him. Invisible currents of air drew his wings up and out as the warm, soothing current of energy encircled him. As it gathered strength, it seemed to seep into his body; not the sexual energy of his first welcome, but a raw healing energy. He could feel the tears in his wings close up almost magically and the various cuts and scratches on his body disappear as the light soaked into him. Even the deep tearing ache from the Minotaur’s rape seemed to heal, and he felt the swelling and pain diminish.

As he felt more and more curative strength slide over his skin, the musical hum peaked. In the healing bond Dean felt not only love and acceptance seep through from the gathered Tel’llalin but deep shame at the Minotaur’s actions. Dean’s eyes began to leak again as he stared blindly up into the fluid night sky and felt more than ever that he belonged.

: : :

They resumed their hike to The Falls the next day. Dean, still healing, moved slowly, no joyful slip glide of wings through the air, but he was at least able to move more easily. Tinker Bell took it upon herself to search steadily for hiding spots so that Dean would not be caught out again in his weakened state. He shivered in the sun and still felt weak and raw in spite of being surrounded by his friends.

The little group had only been underway a while when they heard the horns. Dean knew based on their last encounter they didn’t have much time to hide and there was no way in his current state that he could outrun them now. Luck was with them though as Tinker Bell found a ravine with a sharp over-cropping of rock. The rocky fissure in the ground formed a long trench that hid cave-like openings below. Leary of them catching his scent again, Dean forced himself to continue on beyond the hiding spot to a nearby brook and, shivering in the frigid waters, submerged himself to help lose his scent. He ran upstream and paused in the shallows to cover himself in mud to help further mask his scent, and with wing aching and back stiff, he backtracked down the stream and headed toward Tink’s rocky hideout. Dean thought it was probably better than he could have hoped given the circumstances and crawled down into the fissure.

He sent Tinker Bell away saying, **No argument now; there’s no use of both of us being captured, Tink. Besides, it’s me they really want, me causing the trouble here. I don’t want any of you getting hurt trying to save me; I can’t have that on my conscience.**  

He hunkered down inside one of the little cave-like indents, out of sight from above, to outwait the hunt. Shivering from cold and weariness, encased in drying mud, it was several hours later when Dean suddenly awoke. He had fallen asleep crouched beneath the rock overhang.

He wondered if the horns had sounded but then felt a burning tingle on his flesh and a presence cast a shadow over him, and he knew that that was not the case. Panic and despair slammed through him and all he could think of was the Minotaur crushing his body, holding him immobile, hurting him. With a cry, Dean lunged forward and struck out blindly at the shape before him as he tried to shove past it. He was easily blocked as large, oversized hands grabbed at Dean, missed his shoulder but instead caught a portion of Dean’s injured wing. Agony shot through him at the gauntleted grip. He saw white for a moment and almost fainted as he was manhandled around and his hands caught and held.

He looked up in despair and gasped as he realized it was the Silver Hunter himself, hunched, squatting before him. It had actually wedged its huge body into the narrow space of the rocky ledge. It crouched there, silent, holding Dean easily, blocking Dean’s escape.

Dean cried out, his face a sketch of anguish as the Silver Hunter shook him and growled something darkly at him in its foreign tongue, “∂╬ ∆  ∂◊∞∫¤∆¥µ α{.”

Dean shook his head; he couldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand why this was happening, why they wanted to hurt him. Dean shivered in fear and tried again to slip out of the man beast's grip, but its hold on him was implacable.

The Hunter hauled Dean unceremoniously back up to the forest floor where they were joined by several vulture birds. Dean cringed and trembled as he was yanked forward. He mentally shouted a warning out to the Tel’llalin, **Stay clear, Tinker Bell; don’t come any closer. It’ll be okay**.

To his absolute horror, he saw Tinker Bell fly in to try and help in spite of his caution. She zipped around the gathered minions as she tried to both distract them and evade their jabs and swings to give him a chance to escape. Their sheer numbers, though, overwhelmed her, and one of the vulture birds hit her full on with its pike, and his gentle Tel’llalin friend smashed to the ground, her glow dimming.

Dean yelled out and rushed toward her, **Tinker Bell** , he cried, but the Silver Hunter hung grimly onto his hands and yanked him back and barked out orders that had the vulture birds crowded close, obscuring Dean’s view of her.

He writhed in pain against the angry collection of auras of the vulture birds and the Hunter as they all moved to surround him. Their very presence scraped and clawed at his naked skin, but he needed to see if his friend was alright, was alive. **Gaah, it’s like liquid fire!** Dean thought.His straining body was held back, and the vulture birds obscured his view. He cried out and threw himself forward again, desperate to get closer.

The Hunter’s manacling hand was suddenly replaced by coarse rope. Then Dean felt himself grabbed by two of the vulture birds behind him and something dark was pulled over Dean’s eyes.

A hood was hauled down over his face and tightened and fastened at the neck with a rope leash. He was not only captured but blind again! Dean sobbed and twisted wildly and tried to tear off the hood with his bound hands, but they were pulled away. He kicked out at his surrounding assailants as he drowned in darkness and fear.

He cried out in the darkness, **Tinker Bell, Tink, can you hear me, my friend? Are you okay? God, please tell me you’re alive?** But he heard no response. He kept calling her name, calling piteously and listening for some tiny spark of her presence. She could not be dead, not because of him. Wrapped in darkness, the guilt weighed him down as effectively as his bonds, and Dean mewled in agony at the thought of his friend left there for dead in the dirt. He continued to twist and buck but got nowhere. Impatient, the Hunter yanked on the length of rope and dragged Dean, kicking and screaming, forward toward another large looming presence. Dean could feel this new entity’s aura, its heat an angry tingle on his bruised skin, and he trembled in misery; was it the Minotaur? Could life be that cruel?

As he heard a soft whicker, Dean released a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he realized it must be the Hunter’s war horse he sensed. In his enforced darkness, he could only sense the angry red glow it radiated. With no warning, Dean was tossed up onto the saddle; he felt around in panic and grabbed the pummel to steady himself as he hung suspended, balancing precariously, off the ground. He felt the pull of the other end of the rope from his bound hands that were looped in his captor’s hands. The Silver Hunter swung up behind Dean, crushing his damaged wing between Dean’s back with his armor. Dean arced forward and gasped in pain.

The stress of his enforced blindness and the prickling hurt of the Hunter’s aura combined with the agony in his crushed appendage and the greater pain in his soul at the possible death of his friend. It all proved too much; Dean screamed and slumped forward, unconscious.

: : :

When Dean awoke, he was still hooded, and the smothering darkness made Dean feel weak and helpless. He realized he was now turned around and faced the rider, his head and shoulders cradled in the Silver Hunter's chest, his wings mercifully free and open behind him. His wings perked up slightly as he slowly swam his way back to consciousness.

The man spoke something unintelligible to Dean, “¥µ  α€π ∂?” It was a soft and comforting tone, and the creature started to stroke Dean’s arm gently with its free hand. Dean jerked tried to push away from his captor, but the Hunter’s hand at his back kept him in place. Dean stopped struggling finally and let the hunter do what it wanted, too tired and hurt to put up any more of a fight. He tried to curl his wings closer so they weren’t flopping around or drooping toward the ground, as they had been when he awoke, but found that one wing wouldn’t quite respond; Dean feared it had been damaged again in his latest capture.

 **God damn these things are hard to keep safe**. Dean took an unsteady breath as he tried to flex the more damaged of the pair.

He tilted his head back and tried to sense how bad it was but without sight couldn’t really tell. Sensing his upset, the creature kept rubbing his bare back in gentle circles to calm Dean’s unease. Dean glanced up at where the Silvered Hunter’s face would be, but in the enforced darkness Dean could see nothing of the beast or man before him; he shivered and looked down. The Hunter’s large mass surrounded him, held him pitifully easily in its grasp. Dean struggled not to hyperventilate as the feeling of helplessness spiraled toward panic levels, and he wondered what was in store for him. He drew in shivering breaths and tried to keep his fear in check. He huddled his bound hands next to his chest and tried to appear as small and insignificant as he felt. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how he was going to get himself out of this. And he desperately hoped that Tinker Bell was all right.

Dean held himself stiff and unmoving in the saddle for as long as he could until exhaustion had him sliding into sleep. He would awaken now and then when the Hunter’s horse veered sharply, or a bird cry made him stir. In his pain-filled, incoherent haze and the imposed darkness of the hood, he would mistake the Silver Hunter’s looming presence for the Minotaur, and he would cry out and cringe and struggle against the Hunter’s chest. With his bound hands he would bat at the creature as he wiggled weakly, seeking escape. Instead of violence, or pain, the creature only gripped him gently and rubbed his back and ran feather light touches along his wings. Dean would settle back into exhausted fitful dreams to its soothing whispered assurances.

When Dean finally came fully awake later that day, he realized he was still held gently in the Hunter’s arms, and he tried to reorient himself. He felt miserable, sick and tired of being afraid, and railed at the new aches from being so long in the saddle. He wished they would stop, and he could tear off the hood and stretch, and his empty stomach rumbled loudly in protest. He heard a soft chuckle above him, and he tilted his head to listen harder. He could sense the Hunter looking down at him, and it spoke a few soothing words. Dean hated that in his blindness he could be so easily caught off guard.

 **Damn moose,** **nothing should be that big** , Dean huffed and shoved at the man’s immovable chest. Dean wondered what lay in store for him. What the hunter intended. He knew this creature had been kinder to other captives than any of the others, but just like that another rape could be just around the corner. Dean’s treatment by this creature so far, though, had been relatively kind in comparison. Dean’s stomach gave another loud rumble, and he clutched at it with his bound hands as if that would muffle the sound.

He could practically feel the creature’s eyes as it looked at him, and Dean huddled down and tried to make himself disappear. He startled as the Hunter drew his mount to an abrupt stop and slid down from the saddle. Dean sat there alone on the warhorse frozen in uncertainty; it was one thing wanting to stop, but the reality was somewhat different. A minute later, he could feel the creature untying the rope from the pummel and then he lifted and swung Dean down to the ground beside him. Dean stood silent, breath coming quickly as he wobbled a bit unsteadily, eyes downcast, and wondered what new terror awaited him. He heard his captor growl in disgust, and the next thing Dean knew, his hood was being pulled off his head, and he breathed in sweet fresh air.

He shivered again, unable to stop the flood of memories of his encounter with the Minotaur. Dean twisted his head around to get his bearings and was slightly surprised to realize that it was just himself and the Silver Hunter together here in the woods. The vulture birds and Minotaurs were not with them. Dean licked his lips nervously and wondered at what would happen next.

A sharp tug on his leash had Dean looking up, still slightly disoriented as he tried to bring his scattered thoughts back to real time. He could see the Hunter gesture toward a nearby stream. Dean limped to the water and waited as the man knelt by the water’s edge and gestured for Dean to drink.

Dean knelt down as far away from the man as his leash would allow and thirstily dipped his head toward the water. At the last second, grimy from the ride and tears and dried mud and dust of the trail, Dean dunked his head completely under and drank, rolling his hair in the current. He felt a cold refreshing tingle as some of the dirt loosened and washed away.

He lifted his head out of the water, refreshed and delighted to be a molecule cleaner, and without thinking, he shook his head like a dog and splattered water all over himself and the Hunter. Dean froze in fear as he realized what he had done and cringed back, anticipating a punishing blow, but the man just laughed, a bright joyful sound, and shook the water off with ease.

Dean’s mouth gaped open, and he stared at him in surprise.

The Hunter just leaned back and watched Dean carefully as it reached slowly into a sack it had brought with him and offered Dean something from it. Dean finally remembered to close his mouth and looked at the offering, curiously, and sniffed. He thought it was dried meat, long strips of tough jerky. The man continued to hold the food out to Dean, the delicious smell taunting him. In order to take the proffered meat, Dean was forced to go closer. He quickly snatched the jerky from its hand and scrambled back as far back away as he could. Starving, Dean quickly bit into the meat, reveling in its taste, a salty and spicy mix that was surprisingly good. Dean moaned in satisfaction as he wolfed the food down. It felt like a long time since he’d last eaten.

Dean never remembered jerky tasting like this before; then he stopped, confusion wrinkling his brow as he wondered how he knew that. He hadn’t remembered having meat since coming to the Fae lands, let alone tangy, spiced meat. It slid easily down his throat, and Dean had to force himself to slow down, or choke.

The Hunter just sat and watched Dean for a while  as he tore into the jerky with evident pleasure, then stood and stretched. It turned slightly and unbuckled the mask on its face. Dean paused mid-bite and wondered what horrors lay beneath the silvered shield.

As he turned, Dean gasped. 

The Hunter was beautiful.

He was inordinately large, topping out at close to seven feet, with longish, shaggy, chocolate locks. Two large devil horns protruded from either side of his forehead and gave him a satyr look, but the rest of the face was all human, eerily so. It was the fox tilted hazel eyes that captivated Dean. Brooding and angular - he could see where the man’s face could be cruel, but the sharp planes and prismatic eyes enthralled him, and he had to shake his head to remind himself this was his captor. He sternly ordered himself to stop gawking and close his mouth again.

The man watched him closely and breathed out a single word, “Dean…?”

Dean looked at him in stunned silence, eyes wide in shock. **Holy hell, how did he know my name?** **What is going on here?** Dean didn’t, couldn’t say anything in response; his mouth hung open again.

 **This is getting to be a bad habit** , Dean scolded himself.

Even as he swallowed hard and tried to speak, nothing came out, so Dean thought furiously at him, **Yes, my name is Dean; how the hell did you know that? Who are you?**

He watched for some sign that he could hear him, but nothing happened. Dean sat there, stunned, jerky forgotten in his hand.

The Hunter said something else, “∏≈∞ α≈€π  ∂╬∆≈∂◊∞,” but this came out the normal gibberish, and Dean could only shake his head not understanding. The man sighed deeply; he seemed unsurprised at Dean’s lack of response and abruptly reached a hand down into the water and began to drink his fill and started to chew on his own handful of jerky, effectively ending the exchange. Dean slowly returned to his own meal but kept sneaking tentative looks at the beautiful face.

He had never met the Hunter before, just saw him from a distance as he and Tinker Bell hid and observed, but something seemed strangely familiar about it… no, him, he corrected. And, somehow it, no, he, knew Dean’s name. **How was that possible?** Dean wished he could understand more of what he said.

He should have felt threatened by him, his sheer size and power over Dean, but instead, as he sat there chewing on his meal, Dean felt strangely comforted to be near the man. He chastised himself for being so trusting; who knew what this monster might still have in store for him. Dean shivered again in remembered pain and felt vaguely like he was missing something.

He realized suddenly that that was it, the pain, that was the something that was missing; the burning tingle of the Hunter’s tangled red aura, when he fell asleep in the Hunter’s arms, was gone. Dean no longer felt the constant burn of it; he glanced over at the man again and was surprised to see that the Hunter’s aura had turned to gentle blues and turquoise without Dean having noticed, the angry red, at least for now, gone.

Dean reached out, unthinking, toward him as if to touch the delicate, turquoise, swirling light that surrounded him, curious at the change. He felt the soft tendrils of the Hunter’s essence entwine in his, felt the rightness of basking in that calming energy. The Hunter snaked out his hand and gripped Dean’s bound arm and breathed out, “Dean?”

The large hand engulfed his bicep, immovable. At being held so tightly, Dean flashed on the Minotaur, and squeezing his eyes shut, whined piteously. He tried to twist away in terror, tried to break free of his grasp. The Hunter, though, didn’t release Dean’s arm right away, only rubbed a soft circle in the vulnerable flesh. Dean’s frantic struggles stilled and he calmed and shivered at the sensual feeling the action shot through him. He felt himself harden a little at the touch, and shocked, he jerked his bound hands back in alarm, the Hunter allowing it this time. Dean quickly turned his naked body, hoping that his captor wouldn’t notice his body’s reaction.

Dean couldn’t understand his response to the Hunter’s touch. He shivered and darted a quick look out from under his lashes to see the Hunter’s reaction, but all he saw was a hurt expression in the Hunter’s eyes as he stood, dusted himself off, and with a softly issued order, gestured toward the horse as he pulled on the rope leash.

Dean stood, reluctant to show his body’s treacherous response to the Hunter, but he was already striding away. This time when he mounted, Dean hoped he might swing Dean up behind him on the saddle, but once again, Dean found himself swung up effortlessly into the Hunter’s arms and settled, again, cradled against his chest. If he noticed it, the Hunter ignored Dean’s burgeoning erection and simply renewed his gentle circular motions on Dean’s back. In spite of himself, bathed in the soothing tendrils of the man’s aura and the calming heat radiating from his body, Dean’s frantic heart slowly eased. Bone tired and weary from everything, Dean once again fell asleep in the Hunter’s arms.

: : : 

Dean slid into consciousness as slowly as he had fallen asleep. Powerful arms surrounded him and he felt warm and protected, safer than he had in months. Dean nuzzled into the broad chest, and as a deep chuckle rumbled through the flesh beneath him, he finally jerked fully awake. Embarrassed, Dean straightened in the saddle and groaned at the stiffness of his muscles. He couldn’t remember ever travelling by horse and every muscle he owned was stiff and sore from riding all day. He glanced around and saw that it was almost sunset and sighed with relief as the Hunter pulled up, hopefully to stop for the night. He lowered Dean to the ground; his legs were shaky, and if the Hunter hadn’t grabbed him, Dean would have fallen to the forest floor.

Dean was mortified at his continued show of weakness, but the man only growled something softy and pulled Dean into a supporting hold, nuzzled his face into Dean’s neck, and whispered, “Dean, Dean, Dean…çשּׁⱴﭏ Ⱡⱷ▫ …¥µ α€ Ѱ.” He lead him over to a large tree, and taking the trailing end of the rope tying Dean’s hands, he looped and tied it to an overhanging branch high out of Dean’s reach. He turned back to his horse, leaving Dean effectively tethered to the tree. Dean huffed in embarrassment and sat down heavily at the base of the tree before his wobbly legs gave out. He felt like a child, being manhandled so easily by the horned giant. Child’s play to keep him tied in place and docile.

Determined, Dean looked around him for some kind of weapon or branch. His careful scouting was rewarded with the discovery of a shard of rock with a sharp edge along one side. He sucked in his breath at his good fortune. Unaware, the Hunter unsaddled his mount and brushed and fed his beast while Dean carefully and furtively scraped away at his bonds. The shard of rock cut as much into Dean’s hands as into the rope, but Dean felt the thrill of success as the heavy, hempen rope started to part. He curled back and leaned against the tree; his bent knees hid his hands as he continued to saw at the rope. He knew he only had a short time before the man’s attention again returned to him once he had the camp in order. Dean fumbled some of his cuts in his rush to work through more and more of the rope, a copper scent sat heavy in the air as blood slicked his hands. As the Hunter turned his back to Dean and started to build a fire, Dean felt the last threads of rope part and his hands were suddenly free.

He silently rose to his feet, wobbling slightly as his overstressed legs started to buckle under his full weight. His entire body hurt and he held onto the tree trunk behind him to steady himself until he could straighten. He crept stealthily into the forest; he knew he only had moments before the Hunter would turn and notice his absence. Once he’d gained a little distance between himself and the camp, Dean started to run.

It was nearly full dark as Dean rushed headlong through the forest. His one wing still drooped and felt stiff and wrong, but with the extra lift from the second wing, Dean covered good ground. He felt a heady adrenaline rush of victory at his escape as he put more distance between himself and the Hunter’s camp.

He searched for somewhere to hide and cursed the full moon. He knew that, with any luck at all, in the dark he should be able to find reasonable cover, that the Hunter could literally walk right by him and never know. He continued to scan for possible bolt-holes, but when he heard the enraged bellow he knew his time had run out.

Dean ended up crouched behind a fallen log. He tried to calm his breath so his overwrought wheezing wouldn’t give away his location.

He heard the man tear through the woods close by, heard him call out his name over and over, and Dean held his breath and pulled his wings close around him and wished the Tel’llalin had the ability to turn invisible. He darted a quick glance and saw the dark shadow of the Hunter rush by, and he breathed out a silent prayer that he would continue on, away from Dean. Dean huddled, immobile, by the fallen log as the woods grew silent. He listened intently for any sound of his return, and hearing nothing, finally let loose a soft breath and rose silently to his feet, intent on continuing his escape and putting as much ground as he could between him and his captor.

As he turned to move away, he nearly walked into the Hunter, who stood silent and watchful, nostrils flaring in the silvery moonlight, mere feet from Dean’s position. Dean gasped in surprise and unconsciously started to back up. The Hunter advanced on Dean as Dean continued to retreat until he bumped up against a large tree. As the Hunter’s moonlit shadow fell over him, he realized there was nowhere to go.

The Hunter stepped closer and Dean, his back already flush to the tree behind him, penned in, froze. Dean shivered, and he turned his head away, unwilling to watch the anger fill the Hunter’s eyes, the long line of his neck exposed in unconscious submission, his wings flattened close round his body, and his breath shallow.

Dean blinked up in surprise as he felt a gentle finger run down his jaw and then felt the soft brush of lips as they kissed his cheek.

Dean jerked as if struck. His startled eyes snapped back to the Hunter’s face and watched in surprise as he only took Dean’s hand and tugged gently and moved toward the camp. Dean pulled back and tried to haul his hand away, but the Hunter’s grip, though gentle, was like steel. Dean’s wings flapping uselessly, he felt like a kite on a string as he railed against the Hunter’s strength and was slowly reeled in and drawn forward ahead of the man as he was herded silently back toward base.

Upon their return, the Hunter pushed Dean down to sit near the fire he had finished starting before Dean’s escape. He grasped Dean’s wrists and growled in displeasure at the blood he found there. He reached for a rope and looked at Dean skeptically, said something in a questioning manner, “∏≈∞α €π{ ?” then sighed and went on to tie Dean’s ankles together, avoiding his already damaged wrists. He tied a loose leash round Dean’s neck, tightened the loop slowly under Dean’s panicked gaze until it bumped up against his Adam’s apple, then tied the other end off on a nearby root. Dean’s hands were free, but by the time he might undo all the other bonds, the Hunter would be on to him. Dean was trapped, again.

His captor rose and disappeared from the campfire into the flickering darkness and returned moments later with a saddlebag in hand. He dug in and retrieved some soft gauze bandages and a pot of cream that he liberally covered Dean’s wrists with before bandaging them up. Next, he turned to Dean’s wing, wincing slightly as he saw the ragged gouges and distorted angle of the one wing the Minotaur had dug into. As he tested the injury, the Hunter gently felt along the bone of the wing. He scooted behind Dean and braced Dean’s back against his knee while he positioned his hands on either side of the damaged appendage. Dean mewled in panic, but the Hunter shushed him gently, and for some reason, Dean calmed and simply waited, trusting in the man’s good intentions. The Hunter placed his two thumbs over the jutting bone and gently but firmly pushed the bone back into position. Dean grit his teeth in pain and felt an awful grinding, then a strange pop as the bone snapped back into place. He near wilted in relief as the pain retreated. He glanced up at the man’s face and could find only concern there. Dean hummed in satisfaction as he experimentally flexed and rotated his wing without pain. His success brought a smile to the Hunter’s eyes, and Dean found he wanted to see that smile spread.

Dean felt strangely relieved; all he had ever experienced at the hands of the other Hunters was brutality. This one really was different; he knew it in his gut. The man moved around in front of Dean, took his hand and touched it to his chest over his heart. Dean felt the radiating calm of the man’s aura as it twinned out from his hand and seemed to burrow into Dean’s heart. He could feel a sense of familiarity, even peace, wash over him as he felt the steady, reassuring thud of the man’s heart. Dean looked up at him and felt grateful and confused and a little lost, and he wondered at his conflicting emotions.

The Hunter gently rubbed Dean’s back as if he sensed his unease and patted it as he got up to go over to the fire to start preparing their meal.

Supper was a quiet affair, a simple stew the two men demolished quickly, and then the Hunter was spreading out furs near the fire. He first untied Dean and took him to the camp’s edge to relieve himself, then hauled the reluctant man back to the bedding. Dean began to shiver in fear and pull against the man’s grasp as a repeat of the Minotaur’s attack replayed through his mind, but the Hunter forced Dean down, rebound his ankles, and tethered his neck back to the tree root and spooned up behind him, careful of his wings. One large hand wrapped around Dean and came to rest on his belly, pulling Dean closer back toward him.

In the silence, Dean lay there stiff with fear while the Hunter’s hot breath puffed in his ear. Dean barely breathed, unable to stop thinking about the attack, and closed his eyes and prayed that he was right about this hunter, prayed for the strength to survive if he wasn’t. He held his breath and waited, and waited, and suddenly realized that the man’s breath had smoothed out and he had fallen asleep. Dean’s shuddery breaths squeezed out in relief. Wondering if this was too good to be true, Dean lay there, alert, as the fire died down. His imagination leapt at every sound or snap or pop; finally though, exhausted, he had to admit to himself that maybe, for tonight at least, this Hunter meant him no harm. Maybe everything would be all right.

Dean curled his wings in tighter around him, and with that realization, followed his captor into sleep.

: : :

Dean awoke with a scream as he tried to break free.

Hands grabbed at him, tried to pin him down, and Dean cried out and bucked against the unforgiving grasp. Tears ran down his cheeks as he struggled to get loose, to get away.

He was pulled up and shaken; a deep rumbling voice called out to him, called his name over and over, but Dean was inconsolable in his fear. The restraining hands shook him again, but Dean only cried harder and scrambled to try to get away.

After a few minutes useless struggle, Dean blurrily awoke enough from his nightmare to realize it was the Hunter holding him, not the Minotaur, and he stilled. The man froze as well and patted at Dean, looking for a wound, something that might explain Dean’s terror. Finding nothing obvious, he resorted to rocking Dean and rubbing his back, making gentle soothing sounds as he tried to calm the man. Dean’s sobs lessened and became hiccupping wheezes as he quieted. The Hunter ran a gentle finger under Dean’s chin and tipped it up to look into Dean’s eyes in the dim light of the dying campfire. He began to kiss the tears falling down Dean’s cheeks, followed the trail of tears down Dean’s neck with more tiny kisses, and as Dean’s breath hitched he raised his face up to his and Dean felt the ghost of the Hunter’s lips on his own.

The Hunter flicked a gentle lick across Dean’s bottom lip and a questing nudge to gain entrance. Dean’s limbs felt heavy and his mind drugged in exhaustion as he opened his lips with a sigh and relaxed into his embrace. The Hunter softly explored Dean’s mouth, laving and sucking gently on Dean’s tongue, soothing the man’s alarm but starting a new fire all its own. Dean moaned into the mouth and the man jerked away, swore softly.

Dean chuckled; he didn’t even need to know the language to know that the Hunter was swearing. His hand slid of its own volition over the man’s angled jaw, traced the hard planes of his cheekbones and touched the feather soft, floppy hair so at odds with the horns. Dean leaned up and offered his lips, hungry for his touch. Dean felt the proof of the Hunter’s arousal nudge his hip, and Dean thrust back against it. He felt half-awake and dizzy with growing need, the desire to be close, to be loved, to be looked after by this giant of a man. Need thrummed through him, and he felt the blue bonds of the man’s aura spiral around him and tighten like velvet ribbons.

The Hunter panted in need but gently pried Dean from him and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He rubbed his forehead and turned his face away, gazing resolutely up toward the night sky.

All that could be heard through the camp was the harsh panting of the two men and the occasional pop and crackle from the fire.

Dean reached over and gently laid his hand over the Hunter's heart. The Hunter glanced back, sad, thoughtful eyes on Dean, and shook his head, removing Dean’s hand.

Dean huffed slightly and turned his back and lay down, folded his wings around his body again and tried to find sleep once more. The Hunter settled behind him, and with a small grin of victory, Dean felt his hand snake round and settle around Dean’s waist. Large fingers splayed out on Dean’s belly and he was pulled back against the Hunter.  A peace, of sorts, was reached. Both men took a long time to fall asleep.

: : :

When Dean awoke, the Hunter was already up making breakfast. He thrust a mug of warm, near-black liquid into Dean’s hands before he could even rise and crouched there with an expectant, almost boyish look on his face as he waited for Dean to try the beverage.

Dean sniffed skeptically at the pungent brew, but after a first tentative sip, looked up at the man in surprised amazement. The Hunter laughed; hazel green eyes winked merrily as he watched Dean’s obvious pleasure at the drink. “Coffee, great stuff, eh, Dean?” He laughed and ruffled Dean’s hair as he stood. Dean looked up in mild astonishment; he had understood everything that had been said to him, and this ‘coffee’ was delicious. Dean found himself mouthing the word ‘Coffee’ much to the Hunter’s approval. Dean sighed with regret; it made him mourn the lose of his voice even more that he couldn’t speak directly with the Hunter, even though he could barely remember speaking.

After eating, the man unbound Dean’s feet, and with his leash in a loose grasp, led Dean deeper into the forest. There, Dean discovered a bubbling pond with steam wafting out of it. Dean hummed in surprise; a hot springs, he thought, and wondered where he knew that term. Dean was instantly aware of the caked on mud, dirt, blood, and a good measure of snot and tears that had accumulated on his body, and itched to be clean once again. The Hunter pushed Dean gently toward the water, and as he slowly slipped down into the deliciously warm pool, the Hunter stripped. Dean’s ears turned pink as he caught a glimpse of the man’s long, golden body. Long, long legs, sculpted thighs, and washboard abs; the Hunter was a perfect specimen. His large manhood nested in a bed of tight, brown curls at his juncture, and even at rest, the man’s cock was impressive.

Dean licked his lips and wondered at the sudden warmth that flashed over him. He smirked a little; **It must be the water** , he thought. The Hunter joined him with a cloth and a small pot in hand. He reached over and pulled Dean closer with the leash, dipped into the pot, and started to rub Dean’s hair. Gleefully, Dean realized this was soap, and he relaxed into his hold as the man gently massaged and washed Dean’s head, large hands fanning out to soap up Dean’s wings, and Dean shivered at the intimate touch. Large hands trailed softly over the sensitive flesh, and Dean turned his head away as he felt a rush of arousal from their touch.

Dean trembled slightly, not having felt this way since the Tel’llalin welcome. The Hunter’s hands drifted lower as he soaped up Dean’s backside, cloth gently running around his cheeks, and then Dean yelped and jumped away in pain. He looked at Dean and Dean turned away, embarrassed, ducked his head to rinse the soap away, and shook the fine spray off like a dog to try and distract him. However, the Hunter’s brow furrowed with concern and suspicion and he pulled Dean in closer to him and brought him up to the shallows. Dean tried to push his hands away, but he just shoved him down, and before Dean knew it, had him bent over a rock on the pool’s edge. Gentle fingers parted his bottom cheeks, and Dean began to shiver as he carefully examined Dean’s puffy and torn entrance. He heard the Hunter gasp with sudden understanding, and Dean hid his head in embarrassment at being so exposed. The man just hummed and patted his back and climbed from the pool. Dean heard him issue what sounded like an order, probably to stay, but Dean was so mortified and humiliated he didn’t look up, just kept his head tucked under one wing.

The Hunter returned shortly with another pot of cream and no cringing or struggles on Dean’s part could stop him from caring for Dean’s injury. Dean felt the cooling cream coat his still torn and bruised insides. The Hunter’s large finger pushed gently but firmly into Dean’s pucker as soothing numbness coated his inner passage. The man tsked at Dean and shook his head mournfully. Once finished to his satisfaction, he led Dean back out into the pool to continue his bath. In spite of the man’s care to keep things business-like and clinical, Dean felt a growing arousal at the gentle, meticulous touch.

The Hunter washed Dean’s front this time, rubbed the soapy cloth in soft, circular motions across Dean’s chest, slowly working lower down his body until he gently circled the cloth over Dean’s now interested cock. Dean gasped softly as he was held firmly; a thumb glided sure and firm along his shaft, and the Hunter began to stroke up and down his length. He squeezed and massaged Dean’s dick; large gentle fingers slipped up and over the weeping slit and then returned to long, slow pulls that had Dean arching back into the other man’s chest, his breath panting. As Dean’s dick began to harden and fill, his hips started to jerk frantically, and the Hunter held him close as Dean fucked into his hand. Dean rocked his hips back and forth, floating on sensations of warm, enfolding heat and building release from the tight hold. Suddenly, Dean was coming in the Hunter’s hand, shooting long ropes of white into the pool, shaking in his release, a long keening sigh pulled from him. The man continued to hold him, work him through the last of his orgasm until his cock was too sensitive and wrung out to touch, and he was released. Dean leaned against his chest as his wings trembled in exhaustion, slightly shocked at his actions. This man was the enemy and he’d never, not with a man, not before. Dean stared up into the trees overhead and wondered at this suddenly firm memory. Dean didn’t know how he knew he’d never been with a man before, not willingly; Dean shuddered as he shoved the tainted memory of the Minotaur aside, but suddenly he just knew. Dean shivered and pulled away from the Hunter and folded his wings around himself. The man turned Dean so he could look into his eyes. A slight smile twitched up the corner of the man’s mouth and gentle hands ran down Dean’s face, a look of awed wonder on his own _._ Dean felt the seductive pull of the man’s blue aura surround and calm him. Although he knew logically he should be keeping his distance from this man, he realized that he stirred something in him. Something hot and aching and familiar, something filled with need, need for this Hunter.

“Dean,” the man breathed, and Dean stood stock still as the word rolled over him.

“Dean,” he repeated, longing and something else in the word. Dean’s mouth opened, gasped, but no words would come. Dean’s mind returned to the puzzle of how the Hunter could know his name, how Dean could at least sometimes understand him.

Then he said something else, but it was the same unintelligible language as before. Dean shook his head to try to communicate that he didn’t understand. And Dean found himself once more yearning for words.

: : :

After they returned to the camp, the Hunter packed everything away and they set out again. Dean stood mid-camp and watched the man’s graceful, economical movements as he packed up. Dean glanced longingly at the forest but came to the reluctant conclusion that another escape attempt was just not wise at this time. He had to see where this led, what the man wanted. He sensed no menace from the man, but the opposite as each look seemed to caress some part of Dean’s naked body, the heat in the Hunter’s gaze a palpable thing.

After checking Dean’s wing and applying a new coat of antiseptic cream, inside and out, the Hunter swung up into his saddle; this time he swung the still blushing Dean up behind him. He tied the leash around Dean’s neck to his waist, but otherwise Dean’s hands and feet were free, and his wings were able to stretch and catch the morning breeze.

As they rode along on the trail, Dean found himself humming a song. He didn’t realize he was humming out loud until the Hunter turned in shock and twisted and looked at Dean, grabbed at his shoulders and shook him gently.

 

The man gestured for Dean to continue and as Dean hummed the tune, he heard the Hunters voice softly croon:

 

_“It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight_

_Risin' up to the challenge of our rival_

_And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night_

_And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger…”_

_  
_

Dean stopped and looked around at him, eyes round. Although Dean couldn’t force his tongue to say the words, these were the lyrics that were running in Dean’s head. How did the Hunter, who didn’t speak a word of Dean’s language, know this?

The Hunter said something else, but Dean shook his head; it was again the same unintelligible garble of before. Sighing in frustration, the Hunter turned back around and sped up his mount.

Dean didn’t understand what was going on, but anytime he could remember another song he would hum it, and more often than not, the Silver Hunter eerily sang out the words trapped in Dean’s skull. Dean was remembering more and more. He felt like he was crawling up out of a fog, but just none of it was very useful yet.

That night they again made camp near sunset. His captor efficiently set everything up once more and started a fire, while Dean fidgeted restlessly. The game of musical charades had continued all afternoon, and the one thing Dean knew for sure was that the Hunter had one lousy voice. Dean laughed to himself; if it weren’t for the absolutely shocking weirdness of them both knowing the same songs Dean would not, absolutely NOT want to hear the Hunter sing. The man was earnest and sincere but damn near tone deaf. The strangeness of the situation stuck with him, though, as the puzzling situation continued. Dean’s head felt clearer than it had in weeks, and he made the reluctant connection that it might have something to do with Tinker Bell and Company. Maybe it was something the Tel’llalin had been feeding him, or their actual presence. He realized that his strange memory loss started with Tinker Bell rubbing up against him in his sleep. He wondered if, in their quest for company, the Tel’llalin had deliberately, or by accident, done something to his mind.

Sadness settled over him as he thought of the Tel’llalin, of Tinker Bell. Dean fervently hoped that Tinker Bell was all right, that the strangely still glow ball had just been knocked unconscious, that she wasn’t actually dead. Dean sighed and shook his head at the thought that she may have died trying to protect him and felt guilty thinking anything ill of his Tel’llalin friends.

As Dean crouched by the newly started fire, he reflected on the minor gains made that day. Somehow, the Hunter knew Dean’s name; they shared song lyrics for Christ’s sake, and at least now Dean wasn’t bound. The leash was still looped around his neck but it simply dragged on the ground, a sign of at least limited trust, Dean thought. Whatever the cause of his new clarity of thinking, Dean treasured it. He felt a sense of purpose fill him; he was more than a pretty, winged toy - he knew it.

After supper, the Hunter insisted on tending Dean’s wounds.

“Dean,” he said sternly as he called Dean over. Dean forced himself to move around the fire to where the man sat. He knelt between the man’s knees as he applied more of the healing cream to Dean’s wings. Dean shivered as the large hands lingered as they spread the soothing lotion. His wings fluttered in tension as the Hunter’s heated touch flowed over them, blue fire skittering across his sensitive flesh causing glittery dust to come off on the Hunter’s hands and scatter over Dean’s heated flesh. Dean bit his lip as he could feel himself harden as the man’s fingers continued to ghost over him. The Hunter hummed in satisfaction as he spread the cream and seemed to know what havoc he was causing. Then Dean was nudged forward onto his elbows and made to cant his ass up toward the man so he could reapply the cream to Dean’s blushing bottom. Careful fingers parted his ass cheeks, and he made a pleased sound as he surveyed Dean’s entrance. The cream was again spread round his pucker, then a long, large finger nudged gently into his heat. The pain was greatly reduced, and the man’s fingers barely caused a burn as Dean felt himself open up as the digit slid in. Whatever was in this stuff, it worked, Dean thought, trying to concentrate on anything but the feel of the Hunter’s finger as it swirled and turned to allow another finger to enter and coat Dean’s interior.

Dean didn’t think that was strictly necessary, but quickly became lost in the haze of pleasure as the two large fingers thrust up inside him and scissored him open. Unconsciously, Dean started to rock against the intrusion, and the fingers continued to work deeper in and out of Dean till they hit a sparking spot deep inside of him. Dean reared up in shock, wings flung out, and whined at the sizzling sensation that ran through him, but the Hunter’s other hand rubbed his back and nudged him back into position, head pillowed on his arms on the ground. With words that sounded suspiciously like, “I gotcha, Dean,” the fingers returned to nudge the little bump, and Dean arched against it, rutted back against those knowing digits. The cool cream smoothed a gliding path back and forth over Dean’s prostate, and the Hunter’s other hand reached around to cup Dean’s balls and massage them gently.

Dean’s mind splintered away as the pleasure built; all he could concentrate on was the feel of those fingers as they filled him, and Dean frantically rutted against them as the Hunter’s other hand moved up to grasp Dean’s cock and strip it in time with the finger thrusts. Soon Dean was gasping aloud as his pleasure built; he felt his balls tingle and tighten and pull up, and he arched and moaned as he erupted in the Hunter’s hand. His belly was stripped with ropes of white as Dean came and came from the man’s touch.

He fell forward, boneless; only the Hunter’s arms catching him prevented him from falling face first to the ground. He manhandled the exhausted Dean onto his side, on the sleeping furs he’d spread out earlier, before the fire, and Dean barely felt the gentle kiss on his forehead before he tumbled into dreams.

Dean awoke later that night to find himself snuggled up tight to the other man’s chest. The last embers of the fire were slowly crackling and dying, and in the flickering light he could see the Hunter’s large hand again wrapped around him, the faint swirls of his aura trailing along his limbs. Dean could feel calm wash over him at the gentle touch. Squirming slightly, careful not to wake the sleeping giant or jostle his still tender wing, Dean rolled over so he could look him in the face. In the dwindling light, Dean hesitantly reached out and ran his hand down the relaxed face of the Hunter, following the soft grooves where he knew dimples could appear like lightning strikes, down the angular jaw and long elegant neck. Dean’s questing hand worked its way down across the man’s broad chest, fingers lingering along the golden skin. Finally sliding his hand down where it really wanted to be, Dean laid his hand over the Hunter's heart and slept.

: : :

 

 


	4. In the Fields of Oberon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean were on a hunt when everything went kind of wrong. Dean tripped and fell into a fairy ring and woke up in the fields of Oberon, and now instead of being the hunter he was the hunted.

  


  


: : :

“Coffee, Dean?”

Dean groggily awoke to those words, understandable, coherent words… Dean rose up abruptly. The Hunter chuckled, another cup of that delicious, dark brew in his hands. Dean had understood what he had said. Dean nodded enthusiastically at him; coffee, yes, that incredible beverage. He LOVED coffee; he seemed to remember loving it for a long time. Dean sat up from the furs and scratched his head. Why could he understand some words but not others? He sighed; at least he had coffee again. He’d missed coffee; Orange’n’berry Surprise was good, but it only cut it so far compared to this nirvana. Dean sighed into his cup and curled up protectively around it. He nodded his head, doing a mock bow and flourish with his hand in thanks for the drink.

Dean realized he didn’t know the Hunter’s name. Dean tapped his own chest and mouthed, ‘Dean,’ and then gestured at the man and tilted his head in a questioning look. The Hunter stared at him and then said, “Dean, you really don’t remember?” Again, Dean was stunned at how much he could understand. He shook his head solemnly and mouthed, ‘No.’

“Sam, I’m Sam, Dean, I’m…שּׁⱴﭏ Ⱡⱷ▫…¥µ α€ Ѱ,” and garble swamped the rest of what the Hunter said. It was like he switched channels and the reception went down. Dean concentrated on what he had understood and tried the name on for size; ‘Sam’, this Hunter was Sam. He tried to say it, but all he got was a huff of air as he shaped the words, but the Hunter, no, Sam seemed pleased and beamed at Dean and passed him his breakfast. The man sat watching Dean eat; then, when Dean looked up, he looked away in embarrassment.

Curious, Dean continued to watch him as he hunched over his own coffee and breakfast. Sam was steadfastly not looking at Dean. Dean surveyed him inquisitively and realized that he was not the only one to feel attraction here as the Hunter shifted to reposition himself, his erection visible along the lean line of his thigh in his tight fitting leathers. Dean felt a warm tingle run through him, and smiling slightly, busied himself with his own food.

Bribed with a refill, Dean rose and helped Sam pack up for the road. He wasn’t sure what this day held, but his memory seemed to be returning in bits and pieces, and he wanted to hold each glittering piece tight to his chest.

He ducked his head, bashful, as the man lifted him up to the saddle in front of him today. He surprised himself at the ease at which he settled against the Hunter’s chest. He hummed another mullet rock song, and Sam tunelessly joined in.

Dean slept again and dreamed of the metal car. He and the same chocolate haired man were driving down the highway; in Dean’s hand was the familiar grip of a worn, leather clad steering wheel. He looked over at the man and realized with a start that the Dream Man was Sam, the Silver Hunter. No horns, and certainly dressed much differently, and maybe not quite as gigantor as the Hunter Dean knew, but this was Sam!

 _“No way, Sammy, apple is the best,”_ Dream Dean said smugly.

 _“You’ve got to be kidding; Coconut Cream ganks Apple anytime,”_ Sam shot back, tossing the hair out of his eyes as he glanced over at Dean.

_“So, how long till we get to Hungry Horse?”_

_“Should get there in about an hour, and man, I can hardly wait to get some shuteye. And my baby needs gas big time. We could be pushing her soon if we don’t come across a station.”_

_“Well, Dean, your gas guzzling baby never met a station she didn’t want to stop in at. I can’t do anything about the gas situation, but I could always drive for a bit,”_ Sam ventured.

Dream Dean snorted as if this was the most outlandish thing in the world.

 _“Yea, sure, Sammy, and pigs will fly,”_ he said as he reached out and turned up the music.

 

Dean awoke as the Hunter brought his horse to a halt. His hands seemed to stay lingering on Dean’s sides a bit too long as he helped Dean down from the horse, but Dean was fairly buzzing with excitement at the dream and didn’t notice.

He gestured to the Hunter, Sam!, and grabbed his arm as the man turned to set up the camp. Sam looked at Dean questioningly, and Dean licked his lips and tried to think of how he could convey his dream without words. He made a sleeping gesture with his hands: the two hands folded together as if in prayer and tucked under one side of his face.

Sam nodded, head tilted slightly, and said, “Yes, you slept, Dean.” Dean was stunned again at how much of the Hunter’s speech he grasped. He nodded rapidly, then tried to pantomime his hands over the steering wheel. He rolled it back and forth in his hand and pointed back and forth at Sam and him.

Sam watched him with a look of confusion on his face. “Ah, I don’t …¥µ α€π ∂╬⌡≡Ѱ.” Sam shook his head as some of the meaning was lost in unintelligible gobbledegook. Dean tried to think of some other way to express his dream. The music!!! Dean mimed holding the steering wheel again, then reached forward as if to turn on the music in the metal beast and started humming Highway to Hell.

Sam looked at him in shock, then finally gashed out, “You…שּׁⱴﭏ oh god, you were driving…ﻼ♫ … Highway to Hell, …Ⱡⱷ▫ /⌠…what the Hell, Dean?” the rest was again disappointingly incomprehensible, but Dean understood enough to know Sam had understood him, at least in part, and nodded his head. A wide, excited grin split his face, and Dean felt happy as a loon. Sam laughed and shook his head, saying something that Dean couldn't understand, but his heart got flip-floppy at the fond smile on Sam's face as Sam reached out and patted his shoulder companionably. 

 

After lunch, Dean remembered another song from his dream and started humming it. Dean hummed, and Sam laughed and began to sing Wanted Dead or Alive as he washed up. As he finished and began to straighten up, Sam turned and looked wistfully at Dean, muttering something Dean couldn’t understand, but Sam suddenly sounded irrevocably sad. Dean could see the glint of tears in his eyes as he surveyed Dean, a look of terrible melancholy and loss on his face. Hesitantly, Dean stood and reached out to touch his face. The gentle touch, rather than give comfort, seemed to break the Hunter’s reserve and he, Sam, suddenly let loose a sob and buried his head in Dean’s shoulder, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry. Bewildered, Dean rubbed his back as the Hunter had done to him countless times and tried to comfort the man. He gently wrapped his wings around the man and quietly hummed in an attempt to sooth.

 

The warm bulk of Sam nestled in his arms seemed so familiar to Dean. As the Hunter lifted his tear-stained face and looked into Dean’s shocked eyes, he whispered, “Dean….”

 

Dean stumbled back as an avalanche of images of the Hunter, Sam!, the metal car, and strange scenes of battle and fire and fighting flooded over him. Dean landed on his butt, mind reeling in shock, and curled his wings around him and hid his head inside their iridescent folds. He began to rock back and forth in panic, unsure whether he was remembering or just going insane. Sam rushed over to kneel down by Dean and gently curled his long arms around him. Both men huddled there together for a long while until their tears dried. Exhausted, they both rose shakily to their feet.

 

Dean mouthed, “Sam?” and the man looked down at him sadly and said,

“It’s gonna be alright, Dean… just hang on,” as he lifted Dean back up into the saddle before him. Dean nodded, and exhausted by the tension and uncertainty and lulled by the rocking motion of the horse’s gait, fell asleep once more.

 

: : :

He came awake to a sudden change in the sound of the horse’s hooves, a clip clopping as they hit the cobbled stones of a real street. Dean twisted around in the Hunter’s arms and could see not only a stone paved road that stretched before them, but an honest-to-god castle in the distance. It was beautiful, rings after rings of walls rising upward in creamy white stone. Impossibly tall towers with arched flying buttresses that supported even taller elegant spires competed with twirling, multi-colored, onion dome tower spires that seemed to disappear into the clouds. Dragon tongued pennants flew everywhere, and even the air seemed to sparkle. A city worthy of the Fae of dreams.

As they neared the castle walls, Dean could see the city’s many peoples as they moved through their workday or strolled along the streets, bartering or shopping at stalls and shops. He could see not only the monsters from the forest: giant Minotaurs, vulture birds, centaurs, and goat creatures, but what he could only imagine were elven folk as well. They stood out, so otherworldly beautiful, tall with long, elegant white hair and tilted aqua or lavender eyes. They dressed in vivid finery, shimmery robes that accentuated their tall, willowy builds. Some had swords or arrows strapped to their backs; he even saw a few with wings, here and there, but their wings were silvery white and shone like newly fallen snow, not Dean’s garnet and gold hues. Dean also saw auras of every color of the rainbow but was most enchanted by the elven auras of silvery sparkles like glittering icicles. He wondered if other folks could see these auras or if it was just something the Tel’llalin could do.

As they continued deeper inside the castle proper, the glittering rich fabrics on all of the townsfolk’s clothes began to make Dean feel more and more conscious of his naked state. Dean felt awkward and uncomfortable with his body for the first time in weeks, and he curled his iridescent wings closer around him.

Sensing his unease, the Silver Hunter spoke soothing but meaningless words to Dean. Dean stared up at the Hunter's face but only saw the reflected glimmer of his own wings in the anonymous silver mask the Hunter had again donned while Dean slept.

They stopped in a courtyard somewhere inside the castle; a guardsman rushed up to hold the hunters reins as he slid gracefully out of his saddle and reached up to lift Dean down.

Dean stood silently, eyes downcast, as he tried to hide his sudden unease. What were they doing here? Who were these people? Dean’s head jerked up at a gentle tug. Slightly shocked, Dean saw that the Hunter was again using the leash, which had hung forgotten from Dean’s neck for the last day and a half. The little ground Dean thought he had gained with the Hunter, with Sam, wiped out with that single tug. Dean felt like a prisoner once more.

Suddenly restless, the Hunter struck out toward the castle doors, and Dean stumbled awkwardly as he rushed to try to keep up with the quick pull of his leash. The Hunter seemed impatient, and Dean tried to run, glide, to keep pace, his wings beating like tattered flags trying to catch the breeze and gain some distance, but Sam’s long strides ate up ground, and Dean fell further behind. Finally, his bare feet stumbled on the uneven stone of the castle grounds, and Dean fell, sprawled on the cold stone. His sudden collapse brought the Hunter's headlong rush to a halt. Dean tried to clamber back to his feet, but the Hunter jerked the rope, and Dean was trapped where he half knelt on the ground; his wings trembled slightly. As he reeled the rope in, the Silver Hunter loomed large and menacing over Dean, but the hand in his hair and then the fingers under his chin were curiously gentle as they tipped his face up toward him. Dean felt tears of uncertainty prick at his eyes, and he quickly dashed them away. The Hunter tilted his head and regarded Dean for a moment, then reached out and swiped his thumb slowly across Dean’s lower lip. The surprising caress made Dean lean into the touch and shudder.

The Hunter shook his head and seemed to try to calm himself; he pulled Dean to his feet and began again but this time at a pace that Dean could keep up with. Dean wondered at the Hunter’s quicksilver mood.

They walked through wide and spacious hallways filled with fluted columns and elegant statues, and Dean’s head swiveled to try and take it all in. Curious, he spread his wings, and the hall was so wide neither tip of his wings could touch the walls. The Hunter turned and watched him, and if the silver mask hadn’t been firmly in place, Dean could have sworn he could see the Hunter’s eyes roll in exasperation at Dean’s childish games, but the tension between them dissipated. Dean grinned, his fear somehow tamped down, for a while at least.

After walking for what seemed like forever, they finally came to a large hall where hundreds of the elven folk gathered, their curling, spiraling auras further illuminating the space. Curious eyes stared at Dean as the Hunter lead him into the hall. Dean felt small and insignificant among the towering silver elves, and he gathered his wings in closer and kept his eyes meekly to the ground. The Hunter, though, seemed indifferent to the spectacle around him and purposefully threaded his way through the crowd, pulling Dean along behind him. Dean snuck quick looks at the people there and shivered at some of the covetous and lustful looks he received that reminded him of the Minotaur’s eyes. He felt naked and vulnerable in a way he had never felt with the Tel’llalin. When he fell further behind, the Hunter finally reached back for him, took him by the arm, and gently pulled him to the front of the crowd. As they broke free of the group, Dean could see that beyond the press of people was a wide open expanse and a raised dais. A tall, solemn, white-haired man and an equally tall and stunning, silver-haired woman were seated there on what could only be described as thrones. Both were wearing intricately spiraled crowns and sumptuous robes.

Dean heard a court crier call out as he announced something in the Hunter’s tongue, and Dean felt the man yank him forward. The Hunter bowed on one knee and impatiently pulled the curious and gawking Dean to his knees beside him.

Dean kept his wings hugged tight around his body, uncomfortable to be the center of all this attention. Nervous, he kept his eyes trained resolutely on the tiled floor.

After several very formal sounding statements were traded between the Hunter and the King, Dean felt a hand under his chin, and a gentle pressure lifted his head up. He was then looking into the kindest pair of eyes he’d ever seen as the King peered down at him. The King’s aura was turquoise and white, much like the man’s eyes, and Dean relaxed in its soothing glow. The King’s thumb rubbed absently across Dean’s bottom lip. Dean was starting to think there was a ‘rub here’ sign on his lips but strangled that thought quickly to return his attention to the old monarch. The King stood there a while, considering, then he seemed to make up his mind about something and straightened.

 _You are one of the_ _Tel’llalin; you wear their marks._ The King’s voice echoed inside Dean’s head.

Dean’s gaze shot up, and he looked at the King in wide-eyed astonishment. Someone understood him, could hear him.

**You, you can hear me… understand me?**

_Of course, my child; you are part of the Fae, and I can understand all my children._

The King patted Dean’s cheek reassuringly.

 _The Tel’llalin have much to answer to for these hi-jinks they have been up to, I think. You are Fae, yet you are not. You are really Away and claimed. The Tel’llalin had no right to shape you_. The old King’s thoughts filled with sorrow and anger, and Dean wondered what Tinker Bell and the Tel’llalin had done to incur the King’s wrath.

_You have been claimed and must return; you do not belong here, my child. This place is not for one such as you._

**I –I don’t remember** , Dean stumbled; he didn’t know to what marks the King referred, or who had claimed him; he was a member of the Tel’llalin, but now he wasn’t. Uncertainty swirled around Dean, and he cursed his fragmented memory. **I –I don’t remember _Away_. I don’t understand; who has claimed me? Can’t I stay with Tinker Bell? I thought I was one of them?**

_It is alright, my child; all will be made right, and you will be returned to your rightful place. It is just much wrong that has been done here. The Hunters should have returned you much sooner._

**I- I d-didn’t want to go with them; they h-hurt me…. They…** Dean curled his wings tighter around him, turned his face away from the King, and shivered. **I fought him off. It’s -it’s not the Tel’llalin’s fault; I just couldn’t go with them.**

The King looked at Dean for a while, his eyes gentle, then he turned and stalked back to his throne. He seemed angry and distracted and barked out a statement Dean couldn’t understand to the Silver Hunter. He saw the Hunter stiffen in shame and glance at Dean sorrowfully. Dean was unaware of what it all meant, but it couldn’t be good if the King was angry. If the King had wanted him to go with the Hunters and the Hunters hurt Dean…Dean wasn’t sure what possible tortures might come next.

 _You did nothing wrong, Dear Quary_ , the King’s voice appeared in his head once more as he seemed to tamp down his rage. _My children much abused their power. You should have simply been returned, not_ _mistreated_ _. Much wrong has been done by my peoples, and we must put this to right immediately._

_This Hunter before you has claimed you, but the magic of the Tel’llalin’s claiming has blocked his rightful marks. This must be reversed. The claiming was secured in the taking, and in order for you to be returned to your rightful place, your brother must reclaim you as his own again. You are his mate after all._

Dean’s ears perked up at the use of the word brother and rose to stand before the King. **My…Brother?** Deanasked confused. ****

_He is of your flesh and blood, but a bond flows deeper than that of flesh between you. You are old souls joined and rejoined again through time. This is just your latest incarnation. You are two halves that need be made whole. And to be returned to Away, your bond must be re-established to shape you for your journey home._

Dean’s mind whirled at the King’s implications.

**A bond?**

_Yes, a part of you must sense this. Know that to send you home the bond between you must be re-established, and you must needs be willing. Do you not sense the bond Dean; do you not feel the rightness of it?_

**But my brother…** Dean’s thoughts whispered to the Fae King. **That can’t be right… I -I can’t; not with my brother.**

 _But you want it, don’t you, Quary; you feel the rightness, the sense of belonging? This bond has been stretched thin by the Tel’llalin’s interference_ _but not broken. You would only be making right was has been wronged. You are a hunter, with a hunter’s pride and courage, not some pretty winged thing shaped to amuse the Fae folk in their boredom. You have and always will belong to your brother, and a hunter’s debt will be paid._

Though he wanted to scream and shout and rail against it, what Oberon said only seemed to confirm what Dean felt in his heart. The long aimless days of play weren’t him, just like his urge to fight back against the Hunters, his hunger to defend, to protect, were not Tel’llalin. These were the urges of a darker creature, a hunter; it all matched up with the glimpses Dean had seen in his dreams. The battles, the danger, Dean’s blood sang at the thought of waging war against evil. Dean surveyed his glittering wings and stretched them out to their full length. He felt them catch the soft currents that circulated in the castle hall, felt their vulnerability and delicacy, and felt the lie. It was like the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Dean choked a little as he looked over at The Hunter, at Sam. He felt the invisible tug on his heart as he looked at the bent head. This… Sam, he felt like… home. Had since the first day Dean had seen him in the woods. Dean had felt the pull, felt the tangle of his soothed aura wrap around him, sensed belonging. He wanted to hate and fear this Hunter because he was afraid, but he'd also had other contradictory feelings and emotions. He'd been so confused. The dreams, were they real, were they all memories of the Away? Could this be right?

 **And if I don’t want this?** Dean turned and asked the King in a mental growl, his heart breaking at the thought.

_Then I will permanently break the bond between you and cut you adrift. We will return you to the Tel’llalin. You will never see your other half again, never walk in the Away’s world and take up your hunter’s bow._

Dean turned away from Sam and the King and tried to clear his head. He felt a fierce ache in his heart at the thought of never seeing Sam again. Never feeling those huge hands touch him, gentle him, bring him to his pleasure. He shivered and tried to firm up his spine. A mating with his brother, though; how could that be right?

He felt a glittery presence near him and turned and saw that the Fae Queen had drifted forward to stand beside him. Her long, slender fingers drifted down and caressed along the length of his wings. Her pale, white hand a contrast to the vivid emeralds and summer golds of Dean’s wings. Dean felt sparks of heat shoot through him where her fingers touched, and he arched back in unexpected pleasure.

 _What is in your dreams, Dean?_ Titania’s curious question whispered in Deans Mind.

Dean realized for the first time that he had only ever dreamed since he had seen or been with the Hunter, Sam. He couldn’t ever remember dreaming before.

**I dream of a metal beast and a long ribbon ahead of us and a man, Sam maybe, but different, and we are together on this long road…**

The Queen circled Dean, her long, shimmering, white gown drifted along on the floor behind her, and Dean could swear he heard tiny chimes in the air as she moved. Her hand continued to trail over him and blazed a path of heat and desire through Dean’s skin.

_Dreams often open a pathway to what the heart denies. What do you deny Dean?_

**I -I, I don’t know. I wish I could remember…**

_That is what your mind says, Dean; what does your heart say?_

Dean looked deep into his heart and realized with a startling certainty that he loved this man who could be his brother. It went beyond the short time Dean could remember being with him on the trail; it was a deep-seated feeling that he would always be cared for and loved by this man.

‘I gotcha, Dean.’ Words he could understand. Words he trusted.

Dean looked up into the Fae Queen’s eyes and saw the wisdom of the ages in their serene silver depths.

 _Then it is up to you. You must initiate the bond. It must be your choice. Choose well, Dear Quary._ And the Queen drifted back to her throne. __

 _I have met the Fae; I look forward to meeting the hunter._ The King’s voice swelled in Dean’s mind, and Dean nodded. He too would like to meet this hunter he had been and could be again.

The King spoke aloud to the Silver Hunter, who bowed deeply to the King and Queen as they were dismissed, and he grabbed up Dean’s leash. He practically dragged Dean from the hall in his speed to leave. Preoccupied with his own thoughts of what was to come, Dean barely noticed.

The Hunter strode deeper into the bowels of the castle, turning corner after corner till Dean was dizzy and lost and didn’t think he could find his way out on his own even if he wanted to escape. Finally, they came to a door, and the Hunter opened it and shoved Dean inside. Dean came to a skittering stop just in front of the large bed that dominated the room.

The idea of mating with his brother was scary enough. Faced with the reality of a huge lavish bed was quite another thing, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

Not even thinking about it, Dean turned to flee and nearly made it to the door before the Hunter stepped on his trailing leash and pulled him up short, giving the Hunter enough time to grab up the leash with his hand and haul Dean over with it as he tied it expertly to the bed post.

Dean felt like a pinned butterfly, and he pulled, wings flapping as he struggled ineffectually against the confining rope, tugging uselessly on the Hunter's expert knots. Stamping his foot ineffectually in protest, Dean felt like an easily controlled child.

The Hunter swore, or at least it’s what Dean thought he did, or what Dean would have done in his place, and began to shed his armor, sending a nervous glance over his shoulder at Dean. Dean froze and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling dread choke him as the Hunter began to strip.

First off was the silvered mask. The Hunter shook his head and ran his hands through the mass of tangled, sweaty, chocolate locks. Next was the silver breastplate and matching vambraces, unbuckled and dropped carelessly to the floor. The large silver belt hit the ground next with a clatter in the still room. Without turning back to Dean, the Hunter began to remove the undershirt worn beneath his breastplate. As the shirt rode up over the Hunter's shoulders, Dean could see the long, lean mass of muscular back and then wide muscular shoulders, so broad compared to the tight tapered waist.

Dean watched appreciatively, and his cock twitched in interest at his brother/captor's beautiful body. Dean cursed his lack of clothes again as his obvious interest made itself known.

The Hunter finished stripping down, clad only in what Dean suddenly knew to be ‘boxers’ in his patchwork memory. They seemed curiously incongruous with the rest of the clothing, but Dean forgot his train of thought as Sam turned towards him.

His breath hitched at the heat in the Hunter’s eyes, and Dean saw proof of the Hunter’s matching arousal as it curved up toward his belly, hard, red, and aching. Dean should have felt scared, did feel more than a bit nervous when he saw the size of his brother’s cock, should be trying to escape, but instead, everything was blotted out by the tight heat that curled in his belly, and he moved, drawn to the Hunter like a moth to a flame.

“Dean…” the Hunter breathed, and Dean understood that single word so perfectly now, and the many emotions behind it. Dean rose from the bed and approached the Hunter. He reached out tentatively to the wildly tangled hair, and the Hunter grasped him by the shoulders and brought him in close for a hungry kiss. Dean leaned into the ungentle touch and shivered in need.

Tongues still tangled, the Hunter walked him back toward the bed and pulled away just long enough to unknot and toss aside the rope leash. He hauled Dean up onto the bed as their mouths continued to slam together, thrusting roughly into each other as they knelt facing one another. The hard and aching cocks rubbed against each other in silky perfection, and Dean’s dick hardened further with each thrust against his brother’s weeping member.

Sam’s lips left Dean’s, gasping, and he moved to lick and suck his way down the column of Dean’s neck, biting and nibbling as he went. Dean arched against him, head flung back in a silent moan as Dean’s hands mapped Sam’s chest, traced the golden skin, ran shaking fingers across each scar, wondered what story lay behind each and if he should know them all or not. Sam continued biting and nipping his way across Dean’s collarbone and began to run his fingers up and down the folds of Dean’s wings, coaxing their glittery folds open. Dean shivered as Sam caressed the sensitive flesh and watched as glimmering particles floated off his wings to land like burning coals on their bodies as the Hunter brushed them gently with his fingertips. Dean shivered as the sparkling bits lit a trail of fiery desire in their wake.

Dean’s head dropped back further in sudden weakness as he turned his head and exposed the long line of his neck to Sam. Sam gripped Dean’s hips and pulled him closer and dipped his head in, nestled it into Dean’s exposed neck, and bit down hard and growled possessively. Sam’s gently curling horns rubbed rough yet strangely soft against Dean’s cheek, and Dean’s hand reached up to caress their velvety peaks.

Sam shivered under Dean’s tentative touch and looked up into Dean’s face. “Dean?” The questioning look on Sam’s face begged permission and took nothing for granted. This more than anything calmed the last of Dean’s fears, and Dean nodded solemnly back and mouthed, “Yes!”

With Dean’s consent, Sam surged forward and again fastened his mouth on Dean’s body and licked and kissed a warm trail down to his left nipple. Dean arched up in surprised pleasure as Sam sucked the dusky peak. He writhed helplessly and made whimpering sounds, which only encouraged Sam to suck harder on the defenseless tidbit of flesh as he brought it to hardness. Dean’s arms clutched and shoved against Sam’s shoulders at the overwhelming sensations, and Sam switched to the other nipple and bit down. Dean arched back, a soft cry on his lips as arousal flooded him.

Sam reached down to caress Dean’s warm and throbbing cock. His large hand engulfed Dean’s hard flesh. Sam’s thumb swiped over the leaking head of Dean’s dick and gathered the precum there and rubbed it up and down along Dean’s shaft, stroking and twisting.

Dean whimpered, clutching at Sam in mindless pleasure, and Sam laid him gently back on the bed. Dean thrashed his head back and forth at the deluge of sensations while Sam’s other hand continued to run up and down Dean’s sensitive wings. His wings trembled in response, and the room filled with the flickering motes of pixie dust. Dean heard Sam growl as his lust deepened as the particles settled into his skin. The Hunter shook his head as he tried to clear his lust dazed mind. Dean empathized as the dust lit his body on fire and rational thought fled.

Sam pushed Dean’s knees up till they were bent close to his body, his feet flat on the bed, and the Hunter moved into the space between them. Sam reached to the nightstand for a small pot of oil that was sitting there.

He drizzled some of the oil on to Dean’s aching cock and slid his hand gently up and down its glistening length. Next, the Hunter poured a small amount over Dean’s entrance and, before setting it down, made sure his hands were well covered.

Sam grasped Dean’s cock and began to stroke him slowly while his other hand moved towards Dean’s ass; his large, slippery finger circled Dean’s pucker. Dean jerked as memories of the Minotaur’s crude prep sprang to mind but shoved those memories away. Sam would never hurt him, Dean chanted in his head and breathed out a ragged breath, sobbed from the waves of sensation that slammed through his over stimulated flesh.

Dean didn’t realize the whimpering sounds in the room were from him until his wide-eyed, green gaze caught Sam’s. Sam nuzzled his bent knee with his face and looked up, all earnest face and soft puppy eyes, and whispered “I gotcha, Dean.”

Sam’s fingers circled and rubbed and soothed at Dean’s pucker until Dean felt himself relax, then he pushed one long finger into him in an agonizingly slow glide. Dean stiffened slightly, but the worst he felt was a mild burn and a bit of pressure. As his flesh yielded, he relaxed into his brother’s care. Sam started a soft rhythm, thrusting into Dean with the single digit as he continued to stroke Dean’s cock. Sam pulled and twisted as he swiped over the leaking slit of Dean’s cock and rubbed under its sensitive head. As Dean began to keen loudly, Sam inserted a second finger into Dean’s heat. Dean felt himself stretch and again a slight burn, but the feeling was so good he pushed back onto Sam’s steadily thrusting digits and yearned and ached to be filled with more than just Sam’s fingers. Then, Sam swooped down and took Dean’s straining cock into his mouth.

Dean reared up in surprise, and Sam waggled his eyebrows mischievously from where he knelt between his legs, Dean’s cock filling his mouth. Sam began to suck and pull on Dean’s dick while his fingers continued to gently scissor Dean’s hole open. Dean knew that Sam wanted to ply him with so much pleasure he wouldn’t feel any pain at their first joining.

Sam’s tongue continued to work over Dean’s dick as he slid up and down his shaft, sucking until it hit the back of Sam’s throat. Dean vibrated with sensation as he felt his brother swallow him down. He’d never felt anything so good before and knew at the rate Sam was going he wouldn’t last long.

When Dean seemed ready for more, Sam slipped three fingers into Dean’s oil slicked channel as he continued to bob up and down on his cock. Sam worked his way further into Dean’s dark heat, and his middle finger quested for Dean’s prostate. Finding the gland, Dean felt him rub gently over it, and one last suckle on Dean’s dick was all it took to have Dean crying out and coming deep down Sam’s throat.

Sam’s fingers continued to caress the little bump inside him as he milked his brother’s orgasm for every last drop of come. Finally, as Dean became twitchy and over sensitive, Sam let Dean’s dick slip wetly out of his mouth, but his fingers continued to stroke inside Dean’s passage, not touching his prostate now, just getting him used to the feeling of fullness.

Dean’s eyes had half closed and he had a sloe eyed look in his pleasure; a pink blush covered his cheeks and chest that made his freckles stand out all the more. He looked fucked out and decadent as he sprawled boneless amid his glittering wings.

Dean grinned, a cocky invitation to sin, as he deliberately licked his lips and watched as this Hunter, his brother, trembled between his splayed legs.

Sam reached down and stroked his own aching length and glanced back up at Dean for reassurance as he pressed his cock up against the man’s entrance. Logically, Dean knew there was still a big difference between three fingers and Sam’s actual dick, especially given Sam’s massive size. He knew there was probably very little chance of this happening without his being hurt;  Dean felt he just had to hope for the best and stay calm.

Dean nodded and licked his lips in nervous anticipation, and that one lick almost sent Sam over the edge. He jerked and pushed the tip of his penis into Dean. Dean went instantly tense; so much for staying calm.

Sam breathed out a ragged breath and shifted slightly and nudged forward. Dean felt impossibly stretched around him and went rigid. He looked into Sam’s eyes, his having gone wide with pain, and began to edge into panic.

“I know, Dean, I know. Just hold on, man, it’ll get better; hold on.” Sam’s litany was met with a look of wild betrayal. Dean felt like he was being torn apart; the glowing pleasure of Sam’s fingers had all but departed, and now only a brutal filling pressure remained, with Dean trapped beneath Sam. He sobbed and tried to still the terror of having Sam hold him immobile and blanket his body while he skewered him with his cock. It was all the worst parts of the Minotaur all over again, and Dean trembled and closed his eyes. He grit his teeth and tried to relax against the floodtide of pain ripping up through his ass. He was shaking in panic, his air stopped, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to make his lungs work through the pain. **It hurt, hurt, hurt…..Sammy**! Dean sobbed out in vain wishing his brother could hear him.

Sam pet his wings and continued to talk soothing garble-speak, all the while trying to nudge more fully inside him. Dean tried to get used to the feeling of Sam’s thickness as it filled him to stifling surfeit. Dean looked up at Sam and knew he was nearly undone by the trail of tears running down Dean’s face. Dean’s previous arousal was gone, his cock lying flaccid on his belly, a look of agony and fear on his face. A whimper escaped Dean’s mouth, and Sam froze. “Do you want me to stop, Dean?” Dean shivered and squirmed on the huge cock impaling him but shook his head no; he wanted this over, he needed to do this. He just had to hang on.

: : :

Trusting his brother’s order to go on, Sam shifted slightly and pushed forward; his eyes fluttered back into his skull at the delicious feeling of Dean’s tight embrace as equal parts guilt and pleasure shot through him. His eyes snapped open, and he looked again at Dean’s wings, and a glimmer of an idea came to him; he could only hope it would work. He fanned both hands out and rubbed them up and down Dean’s span of wings, gathering as much of the sparkling pixie dust as he could as he caressed the gossamer folds.

Then he pulled carefully out of Dean, and as Dean lay panting in relief at the temporary reprieve, Sam coated his cock in the glittering stuff, hissing at the almost unbearable intensity of pleasurable heat that tore through him as he covered himself. Next, he wiped the excess off on Dean’s own cock. It was now liberally coated in sparkling tribute, and Sam watched in barely hidden glee as Dean’s cock began to lengthen and fill and Dean’s breath began to speed up. He moved to grip Dean’s hips, and with soft, short thrusts, began to work his full length into his brother again.

When he was finally balls deep, he looked up at Dean and paused, panting and waiting for Dean to adjust to his presence. The glittering dust was doing its work, sending flames of relaxing desire through both of them, and he saw Dean’s head roll back in pleasure now, not pain.

“I’m not gonna move, Dean, gonna wait till you can handle more.” Sam swallowed and buried his face in Dean’s neck as he panted and tried to keep a tight rein on his desire. All he wanted to do at this moment was pound Dean into the mattress.

Dean trembled, and they lay there a while with Sam’s still rock hard dick firmly embedded in Dean’s tight body. Sam reached around and wrapped his huge hand around Dean’s half-hard cock. He heard Dean’s panting breaths as he twitched at Sam’s firm strokes and the lightning dust reignited his passion, and Sam felt Dean nod his go ahead.

: : :

Aided by the glittering dust, the burning fullness inside Dean soon dulled enough for him to start to feel just fullness, and he became conscious of Sam’s dick lying fat and heavy and sparking, pressed against his prostate. Every heartbeat that thrummed through Sam’s fairy dust laden dick sent vibrations of pleasure across the little gland, and in astonishment, Dean felt his cock harden further in Sam’s hand.

Dean’s hips began to wiggle in curiosity, and he nodded his go ahead and Sam, taking the hint, started to nudge gently back and forth inside Dean as he crossed the gap to pleasure once more. Sam adjusted his angle in order to rub up against Dean’s prostate on each and every shallow thrust. Dean was caught near breathless as he rutted forward into Sam’s hand as the intense feelings of pleasure increased. He began to work himself back and forth, thrusting forward into Sammy’s hand and back onto Sam’s dick. Sam watched Dean tip his head back in the tightening cycle of pleasure and close his eyes, mouth hanging open. Sam pulled almost completely out of Dean and began to stroke back in earnest; as he thrust in, he angled down even harder on Dean’s prostate. On his second stroke, he knew he had found his mark again as Dean’s eyes slammed open, wide and unseeing. Sam began to pick up the pace and continued to pound on that same sparking spot. He watched in satisfaction as Dean’s not inconsiderable length filled his hand completely now, and he hummed his pleasure as he pistoned back and forth.

Sam swooped down to grab a quick kiss from him; the hard pounding rhythm had both of them gasping. Sam moved both hands to grasp Dean’s hips, licked and nuzzled and bit at Dean’s mouth. Dean’s hard and dripping cock now lay trapped between them. All too soon, Dean felt Sam’s balls tighten. As his brother’s release neared, his rhythm began to falter, and Sam quickly reached between them to grasp Dean’s shaft.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Dean? Feels right,” Sam huffed in Dean’s ear. Dean gazed at him, pupils blown, and mewled in pleasure; his wings moved weakly in drugged delight.

“Gonna come for me, Dean, gonna come for your baby brother, in my hand.”

Dean’s head shook, and he bucked up and strained wildly.

“Then come for me, Dean, come for me right now,” Sam crooned.

Sam’s grip trembled, and three strokes was all it took for Dean to come a second time, a dry sob of satisfaction pulled from him as warm, pulsing spurts erupted over Sammy’s hand.

As Dean came, his channel tightened over Sam’s cock and pushed Sam over the edge. With a few more desperate strokes, Sam shoved deep into Dean’s body and emptied himself inside his brother. Dean’s orgasmic clenching milked Sam of everything he had as he came, his warm come coating his brother’s insides.

Dean’s head fell back, and he sighed as Sam rocked through the last of his orgasm. They lay there until Dean began to squirm slightly at Sam’s collapsed weight pressing down on him. Sam groggily came back to himself, and grabbing hold of Dean’s hips, Sam suddenly flipped and rolled Dean over. Dean and his wings now lay safely sprawled over top of Sam.

Dean squeaked in surprise (a sound he would never, under threat of death, admit to having made), but then relaxed boneless over his brother’s warm length; his finger’s idly circled Sam’s nipple. Sam’s head flung back on the pillow and surveyed the ceiling through the tinted mosaic screen that was Dean’s wings. He huffed in delicious exhaustion and winced slightly as he shifted and pulled out of Dean with a wet slide.

Dean could feel come slowly leaking from his ass, and the mess on his belly between him and Sam was mildly gross, but Dean didn’t care. He felt completely satiated, warm and sleepy, and with a satisfied hum, pillowed his head on Sam’s chest and promptly fell asleep. Sam dutifully followed.

: : :

Later, when Dean awoke, the room was brighter. The few candles around the room had burned out, but the faint early rays of sunrise were starting to creep through the tall, narrow windows in the room. Dean’s hand rubbed absently at the warm chest under him, and he lifted his head up, rested his chin on his hands, and gazed contentedly at the hunter who lay sleeping beneath him.

“Sammy,” he breathed.

Dean jerked in astonishment as the softly thought word actually came out as sound.

“Sammy.” He tried again, his voice rough and croaking slightly from disuse; a fierce grin covered his face as the miracle repeated itself.

Sam rubbed his eyes, and still half asleep, answered, “Not now, Dean; go back to bed.” Then his eyes snapped open, and he stared up at Dean, suddenly wide awake.

Dean smiled. “It’s me, Sammy, 100% bona fide me  ̶  speaking!”

“God, Dean…Dean, your voice?” Sam huffed out. “I never thought I’d be so glad to hear you talk again. Oh god...” Sam reached up and hugged his brother tight, squashing him into his chest.

Dean wriggled, wings flapping uselessly in Sam’s over-tight hold, “Okay, okay, take it easy there, Sasquatch; you’re a little bigger than you used to be. I don’t want to sound like a girl or nothin’, but if you don’t lighten up you might honest-to-god break me.”

“Oh god, Dean, this is amazing… but, but what do you remember? You, you couldn’t speak when I met you, couldn’t understand me…God, Dean, I made you my prisoner! I -I didn’t know what else to do; I had to bring you back.”

“I don’t know what happened. I just, I woke up and I was me again. I can remember everything that happened now, but for a long time I couldn’t remember anything, couldn’t remember you… Oh god, Sammy, Tinker Bell, she saved me from the Minotaurs.”

“If you mean that glow ball buddy of yours, no, Dean, she didn’t save you; she actually stole you away. If you’d gone with the Minotaurs the first time they grabbed you, we’d be back home by now.”

“Well forgive me if 300 pounds of angry bull with a sword didn’t seem too freakin’ inviting the first time I ran into them. I- Tinker Bell, she seemed the only safe choice. God, I -I waited for you, looked for you after I fell in the mushrooms, the ring, visited it every goddamn day, Sammy, but I never saw you. How did you even get here, then?”

“I don’t know; once I figured out what happened I followed you, or tried to, but I think I must have come out in another location. I was captured almost right away and taken to Oberon, the King. I told him I needed to find you. Dean, I’ve been looking for you for months now… I thought, I thought I’d never see you again. Thought maybe you were dead.”

“Then we, well, we found your scent, your jacket... I just couldn’t believe we might be so close after so long. And when I did find you and you couldn’t speak, couldn’t understand me, and you’d been...you’d been raped, Dean. I didn’t get to you fast enough. How can you forgive me?”

“Oh, Sam, Sammy, my god- it’s not your fault; you did the best you could. More than good. And don’t you worry, I kicked that Minotaur’s ass. Made it sorry it ever fucked with a Winchester. We were trying to get away from it when you found us, me. But when the Vulture Birds surrounded me, Tinker Bell tried to rescue me and they killed her, Sam. I saw her cut down. All because of trying to save me.”

“Why do you think she’s dead, Dean?” Sam asked, perplexed.

“I-I saw her hit; I saw her go down. The Vulture birds they…”

“They didn’t kill her, Dean,” Sam shaked his head.

“But I saw her fall to the ground and not move. I couldn’t sense her. Couldn’t feel her mind anymore.”

“Yea, and then you passed out from your injuries, Dean. I asked the Hunters to check on it, her, see if she was okay after I got you secured, and she sprang up and floated away before they got near her. I think she’s fine, Dean, really. Maybe a bit banged up, but she’s not dead. King Oberon is a bit pissed at her though.”

“Oh god, really? You’re not lying to me are you, Sam? Trying to make me feel better?” Dean stared intently into Sam’s face, and at Sam’s head shake no, Dean sighed. He let his head fall to Sam’s chest as he breathed out a sigh of relief. “That is such good news. I-I know you think she didn’t do the right thing, but Sam, she was so good to me in so many ways. I-I kinda think they were bored and wanted a new playmate when they found me…shaped me, but they didn’t mean any harm. The love I felt from them, Sam. It was intoxicating. It was like finding a warm home. If I hadn’t felt the bond between us, I don’t think I ever would have left. It was too easy to stay with them. Too easy to lose myself there. It was peaceful, Sammy. For the first time in my life I didn’t have to fight, to struggle. I could just…be. It was kinda nice.”

“But every time I saw you, something just drew me, made me notice you. And then you found me that day, and just being near you started to bring it all back. My real home. You, Sammy.”

“And now we’re together, really together.” Dean smirked lewdly at Sam. “But how did you end up Gigantor horned guy?” Dean asked.

“Ah, the way Oberon put it, ‘as soon as you eat of Fae food or drink, you become one of us’, and in order not to devolve into a pile of endoplasmic goo, I guess you gotta be shaped. The King shaped me. I -I’m only a little bigger than my normal self.”

“Says the man who didn’t take it up the ass with a baseball bat,” Dean chuckled. “And what’s with the horns?”

“Well I guess the Fae women find them... ahem… attractive on a man.”

“Well this Fae bitch does too.” Dean’s hand caressed the velvety tips teasingly.

Sam laughed and looked away, sheepish. “Do…do you mind what happened, really? I mean…it was the only way I could convince Oberon to let you go, let us both get back home. I said I had claimed you, that you were mine, and no Fae had the right to you because you were mine first. I -I couldn’t lose you Dean...I lost dad, but I just couldn’t lose you too, Dean. I love you and not just like a brother, more, Dean, and I’ve been hiding it for so long, was ashamed for you to know. How sick I was, feeling like I did toward you…” Sam trailed off mournfully.

“Shush, shush, Sam, it’s alright, it’s okay. Would I have gone out of my way to land on my brother’s dick... I gotta say, I don’t think so, Sam.”

Sam cried out in despair and humiliation and turned his head away.

“But, but now that I’m here, we’re here. Well, what’s happened…I’d have to say I -I kinda liked it. I -It kind of feels right…the old King - I don’t think you were fooling anyone, Sammy; I think he knew. I think this is the way things were supposed to be; you just kinda forced it a little... I’ve been yours since dad first put you in my arms. I think I’ve been denying how much you really meant to me for a long time too, Sammy. You’re not alone in this.” Dean trailed off, stunned at the epic turn of events.

“When the Tel’llalin made me into Butterfly boy, it was, sort of, well, sexual; I think from what the King said, the only way for you to change me back was more of the same. So, I think you did good…Really. Otherwise I’d be Glitter boy forever and not even remember you. And I love you, Sam. Whatever incarnation we’re going through, I think that will always be the way of things. I love you!” Dean said as he caressed Sam’s face gently.

“Enough of this chick flick moment. All know is you healed me! You brought me back! Talk about your sexual healing! Sammy, you’d better be careful with that thing; they might want to cut it off and sell it like Tiger Paws. Sammy’s healing dick!” Dean chuckled.

Dean ground his hips suggestively across Sammy’s morning wood and lifted his eyebrows in question and said, “Of course, there’s no way to be sure this will really take unless we do it a few more times, maybe in a couple different ways. Just to be sure...”

 

 

: : :

**Hungry Horse**  
 **Inn, Montana, 3 Days Later**

Dean snuggled against Sam, content. Sweat and sparkling dust gleamed on their bodies. Dean walked his fingers up along Sam’s face, playfully.

“So, Sammy, how long do we have before these disappear?” Dean teasingly tweaked Sam’s horns.

“Ah, I think the King said a moon or two before we become ‘one with the Away and the last of our gifts leave us’. So, uhh, I think that means the horns _AND_ the wings, Dean.”

“Oh no, I was beginning to like these, but I bet they’d be a bitch trying to drive in the Impala.”

Sam laughed and grabbed up Dean and rolled them both so Dean was splayed overtop Sam’s form; wings lazily fluttered in the room above them, catching the morning light.

“So, I guess that means we only have so much time to explore how sensitive these babies are?” Dean said as he gently caressed his own wings, glitter dusting down along Sam’s length, and Sam shivered in response.

Dean hummed in anticipation and thought, that’s about as fairy tale an ending as they’re likely to have.

 

**END**

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